The Case of Identity Switch
by Spacebabie
Summary: In two different parts of the world a Hunter and a Detective track down their suspects to come across two similar enchanted objects that cause them to live each other's lives.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the characters or their universes. Supernatural and all characters belong to Eric Kripke, Warner Bros and the CW. Sherlock belongs to Mark Gatiss, Steven Moffat, the BBC and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.

**Notes:** Character and dialogue driven. Except for the first chapter each one would be in the perspective of one character as they deal with the situation. There will be some action and mostly gen.

**Setting:** takes place not long after the seventh episode of the eight season of Supernatural and not long after Hounds of Baskerville of Sherlock

* * *

**The Case of Identity Switch**

Chapter 1

_London 1:43 Am_

It did not take long to track down the suspect or rather the criminal. True in the eyes of Lestrade and the others she was still just a suspect but Sherlock knew she was the murderer and she had killed three people so far. There were the possibility of other bodies that have yet to be found, and if they were found he would be informed either by Lestrade or Molly, depending on who would come across them first.

"You are positive it was the housewife?" John asked after they had entered the seemingly abandoned Critchlowe house, a building few dare step inside because of the idiotic superstition that it was haunted.

"I am not positive," Sherlock said as he glanced around the entrance. It would seem to be abandoned to those who were not as intelligent as him but he could see it had been recently occupied. There was a shift in the direction of carpet fiber in the corner of the rug, a small one left by the heel of a shoe. The woman had made sure not to leave foot prints in the dust but there were a few miniscule bare spots left either by raindrops that fell from her since it was raining an half hour before.

"You are not?" John asked as he raised his eyebrows. "Then why-"

"I am accurate," Sherlock interrupted him. "I am always correct after all. She has committed the acts of murder and she is here."

"Such gruesome ways to die," John said as he shuddered.

"Yes and quite a fascinating case this has been, almost sad to see it come to an end."

The first case had looked like a suicide. The victim had plunged her hand into the garbage disposal while it was still on. Her husband insisted on Sherlock's help and he had found an interesting and unusual bit of evidence under the sink. It was a cloth bag that contained the bones of a raven and some of the victims hair. It was known as a hex bag. Sherlock had come across a few before, both were used to protect the victims or rather the victims believed they would protect them. They failed.

The second victim was found pinned to the wall in his home by several knives. Lestrade had said it looked like a circus act that had gone wrong. There was another hex bag found in the umbrella stand.

The third victim was found in his own home as well. The portly man was in his bath, boiled alive and once again there was a hex bag, this time found inside the hollow shower rod.

The three victims had one thing in common. They knew Catherine Ridgewood, a middle aged housewife who made homemade jam and sold it through her website. Her husband was a high level manager in a paper company and they had two children and a dog. They had appeared to be a normal happy family except Catherine was a murderer and deluded into believing she was an actual witch.

The first victim was unhappy with her own husband and tried to seduce Mr. Ridgewood and failed. The second was the professor to the Ridgewood's eight year old son who had been singingly the boy out for knowing the answers and blurting them out when the professor refused. The third had been ordering and canceling cases of jam, four times in a row.

"Why would she be here?" John asked as they searched the house.

"A seemingly abandoned house would serve as a fitting place for her to practice her craft," Sherlock answered. "Or practice as she believes. I am one hundred percent certain she comes here for her so called ceremonies before she goes out and kills the victims herself."

"If she thinks she is an actual witch then why does she need to actually go out and do the killing?" John asked. The light of his torch landed on a dusty framed photograph.

"She believes she is a witch, just not a competent one," Sherlock answered and paused when his torch found something on doorframe to one of the rooms. "She is a bit frustrated that her magic is not working and has to perform the actual labor."

"Or has someone else murder for her," John suggested.

"Obviously," Sherlock said under breath. That was the part of the case that annoyed him and frustrated him. There was no sign, no form of any evidence that proved that Catherine had committed the deed herself. Not even he could find any clue, no lost fake gems from her barrettes, no way of proving that the knives were wielded by a person of her height. There was nothing.

"She'll tell us when we have caught her."

"That is a possibility."

"It's almost over then?"

"Almost." He shone his torch on the frame and found a faded copper streak

"You sound disappointed," John said. "Are upset that you can't solve this case on your own or that it is going to end soon?"

"Both actually," Sherlock answered and turned to face him. "She is in here."

"Are you certain?" John asked and shook his head. "Of course you are."

"This is nail polish that has been rubbed against the frame," Sherlock said as he pointed at the streak. "Caused by grabbing at the frame in such an abrupt manner that can only be by someone trying to open the door in a hurried manner. This bit of polish has also only been here for a few minutes."

"We should call Lestrade."

"You call him," Sherlock said as he turned the knob. He was careful to not make any sound and slowly push the door open, first with a small nudge from his hand and then with his foot from an angle while motioning John to stand away from the door. "Do not enter."

"I sent him a text," John whispered.

Sherlock held up a finger. He knew Catherine was hiding somewhere in the room. He would have to be careful when he investigated. After a few seconds of waiting he shone his torch onto the ground. Just as he thought there were show prints in the dust of the wood.

As soon as he entered he heard John take a step behind him. He knew John would follow. He did not turn around when he held up his hand to motion that his friend stay back.

"But, Sherlock," John whispered in protest. "I'm not about to let you go all half cocked into there, not alone."

"Yes you are." He gave John a look that told him to back off. "Wait a few minutes and then follow," Sherlock whispered back. He kept his focus on the tracks that were leading him to the hiding spot of the murderer.

The tracks had led him to a closed door; most likely a closet and Catherine had managed to move a small table so that it would be in front of the door. It was quite a skilled task since there was not too much of an angle, though by the type of wood used for the table it did not seem to way much, though the pewter goblet in the center might have made it difficult. The goblet might have intrigued others but it was not essential to the case and he viewed it as another dull and useless detail.

Sherlock aimed his gun at the door and would have commanded her to step out if the goblet did not catch his eye. The jewel in center was be glowing a soft blue color. The entire gem was coated in the illumination and Sherlock's eyes were glued to it as if he were hypnotized. Blue turned to red within seconds and a crimson flare filled his vision.

He felt himself flying backwards and felt like he was being ripped out of the room, out of the house at speed that defied physics before everything turned black.

* * *

_Hopkinsville, Kentucky 7:45 pm_

"Freaking witches man," Dean Winchester grumbled as he and Sam stood in front of what looked like an altar. It was made of dark wood and had everything that Dean would expect to find on an altar from a witch. There were candles at one end, pentacles drawn onto it, a mortar and pestle and a dagger with a black handle with bright red gemstones. The most disturbing thing was the skinned decapitated mouse that was on the center.

"Not a present from a cat," Sam said has he grimaced.

"No kidding," Dean agreed as he turned away from the display. "We know this where they have their yaya sisterhood parties, now where are they?"

Sam shrugged. "They could be anywhere. We don't even know who it is or how many there are."

"Just a couple of vics," Dean sighed.

The case came across their radar a couple of days ago when Sam read about it online. A repairman drowned while he was trying to fix a washing machine. Since people do not normally fall into washing machines, and even less drown in them they knew it was their type of job. They just didn't know what it was until they found the hex bag behind the washer. Once they knew they were up against witches they just had to go through the suspects.

That was easier said than done. They talked with people who knew the repairman and asked the usual questions of who would want to hurt him, if he had an enemies or was there someone that he had pissed off and after interviewing they came up with bupkis.

Then came the second victim in the form of a catholic school teacher, not a nun, but happily married woman who taught third grade at a catholic school. Her death was pretty horrific. Her insides were cooked and came dribbling out of her eyes, mouth, nose ears and Dean was sure a few other places but he did not want to look.

Again they went through a few interviews and there were three people that knew both victims and they had to narrow it down before the witch struck again.

Witches tend to kill for different reasons. One is in defense against something more sinister. Dean felt like this wasn't the case. They also kill if they can gain something that will make them more powerful or live longer. There were no signs that the repairman or the teacher had any special gift and they did not frequent a special club, or game room or bar where they might gamble away their years. Witches kill if someone pisses them off and this seems like the most likely reason and the fourth is for a demon ceremony. Dean is hoping just for the pissed off.

"We could call Cas," Sam suggested. "Make sure there is no demon connection."

"You reading my mind?" Dean asked.

"Don't want any real powerful demon to appear," Sam said. "We should at least ask before another person dies, Dean."

"I know," Dean agreed. "After we search this place. I know we found that altea but I don't want to feel like we might have overlooked something."

"Good point. Should we separate?"

"Cover more ground. We call Cas after we returned to the hotel." He was not going to call him while they were at the creepy spell summoning house.

Dean searched upstairs while Sam searched the rest of the first floor and he had mentioned he would check out the basement. Dean wasn't going to argue with them there. Basements of borded up places were filled with spider webs and while he wasn't afraid of spiders he hated walking through their webs, especially when they covered his face.

The first room had nothing and Dean made certain to check the closet as well, nothing but a few dead roaches and what looked like rodent crap. There was more of that in the bathroom along with an ash tray that stank more of cannabis than tobacco. That wasn't surprising. He and Sam did find several empty beer cans in the living room along with the alter and a few locals mentioned teens broke into the place from time to time and Dean was certain it wasn't just to smoke weed and drink.

"Ah lovely," Dean said when his suspicions came true. He found both empty condom wrappers and a few used condoms in one room that also held a dirty and torn mattress. "Kids partying and getting some ass, no problem." He had no problem with them until they started killing people for their ceremonies.

The third room was the largest and most likely the master bedroom. There was an adjacent bathroom but that was not what grabbed Dean's attention. There were more beer cans scattered about and some of them had been converted into homemade bongs. There were a few empty packets of rolling papers, a few empty match books, cigarette and cigar butts and a bookshelf against the wall.

The bookshelf was mostly empty. There were a few books there and some magazinesl, and just as Dean had thought they were issues of Playboy and Busty Asian Beauties, and their pages were stuck together. Two of the books were textbooks that were big enough to hide the porn and there was a leather bound book.

"A real non-school book," Dean said as he picked it up. There was a symbol of a sun on top and a moon on the bottom and the borders had a Celtic design to them. The words were on the cover also seemed Celtic. "Hey Sam, I think I found something."

He heard a muttered sound from down stairs.

"Sam?" Dean called out.

"I'm coming," Sam shouted out.

Dean stared at the book and then back to the bookshelf. The only thing he didn't examine was the pewter goblet in the middle of the top shelf. There wasn't anything really special about it, just a cup stem and base with what looked like a shield in the center with some phrase in Latin above and below it and bright red gemstone in the center.

"Ut Restituo Pro A Melior Vita," Dean read. It took him a couple minutes to translate it into "To Replace for a Better Life." Yeah better life, wouldn't that be nice to be someone who was rich or a rock star or maybe get out of hunting.

As Dean continued to study it the gem seemed like it was glowing, correction it was glowing a soft red glow.

"Sammy get in here now!" Dean shouted as the red changed to blue and filled his eyes with the light.

Dean heard Sam shout out for him a second before he was thrown backwards and kept on flying until he lost consciousness.


	2. Chapter 2

_Chapter 2_

_London, 7:23 A.M_

* * *

Dean woke first to the beeping sound of a heart monitor. Sam had brought him to a hospital and Dean had no idea how long he had been out. The last thing he remembered was the glowing stone on that goblet changing colors, glowing brighter and he was knocked back.

He opened his eyelids half way, closed them and opened them again. The room wasn't too bright and the light that was pouring in was coming from his right, probably from a window. It smelled like a hospital. The rule was that if they could walk away from it then they didn't need to see a doctor. They had often reset their dislocations, removed bullets and other shrapnel and stitched each other up. They even set minor breaks. Being thrown from a room and being knocked out from the blast was not walking and it made sense to Dean that he was in a hospital bed.

The first thing he noticed was his hair felt a bit longer. He had bangs that fell across his forehead, bringing up the question how long was he out? Months it seemed like and Sam could of at least groomed him and give him a decent haircut. Then again Sam seemed to have a developed an allergy when it came to scissors.

He still was able to move his arm and reached up to brush away the bangs. That was a weird feeling. His hair felt even thicker than usual and a bit on the curly side. He looked up and saw a few dark curls.

As Dean pulled his hand down he noticed it was also different. It was paler, almost like alabaster. The fingers were long and slender and well-manicured. The cuticles were not jacked and there was no sign of dirt to be found…well anywhere. They were smoother almost devoid of any sign of a callus. The scars had had acquired over time were gone. What was going on?

He bolted up in his bed and clanged around. There was nothing special or significant about the room he was in. It was a one bed room which suits him just fine considering what he woke up to. He looked out to the window and saw a man sleeping on a yellow couch underneath it the window frame.

Dean blinked when he got a good look at the man. He was someone Dean had never seen before. He was shorter than him and older with sand colored hair cut short. He wore a beige sweater and blue jeans. Who was this guy and where was Sam?

"Sam," Dean blurted out and nearly bit his tongue. His voice was different. Instead of his slightly gruff tenor voice he spoke in a deep and rich baritone. What the hell? His outburst was enough for the other man to stir

"Sherlock?" The man on the couch asked before he yawned as he sat up. "You're awake?"

"Yes," Dean choked out. He wasn't sure what was going on. "Where is Sam?"

"Who's Sam?" The strange man was clearly British by the accent. "Did you have any odd dreams?"

Dean nodded and stared down at his chest. It was just as pale as his hands and just as slick. There was the lack of a tattoo. He stroked his chin and rubbed the side of his face, taking notice of the more prominent cheekbone. What the hell did that witch do? She switched Dean with some stranger.

"I'll get the nurse and doctor," the other man said as he headed out the door.

"Thank you," Dean said and laid his head back down. "Freaking witches." He had to call Sam, but first he wanted to know where he was and whose body he was in. The other man knew who was and was either a friend or a colleague or hell possibly a lover.

"He's awake," the strange man said as he returned with a man in a medical coat and a couple of nurses.

"Morning Mr. Holmes," the doctor greeted, also in a British accent. "How are you feeling?"

"Like a new man," Dean answered. Was he in England? Did he switch bodies with some English dude?

"That's good to hear," the doctor said as he shone a light in his face. "You have been out for seven hours, though the odd thing is there are no contusions and no sign of a concussion on you."

"Your friend wouldn't leave you," the hotter of the two nurses said. Yep, he was in England all right.

"Is he going to be all right?" The friend asked.

"He'll be fine, Doctor Watson." The doctor said. "Just need to check him out and then you can take him home."

"That's a relief, right Sherlock?" Doctor Watson asked.

"Yeah," Dean answered as he processed the new information. His friend was named Watson and the body he was in was named Sherlock Holmes, Sherlock? Who the hell would name their kid that?

It took a few minutes for the doctor to finish checking Dean, followed by unhooking him from the machines.

"There is just a bit of paperwork for you," the doctor said.

"He can sign after he gets dressed," Watson said.

"Oh certainly," the doctor said. "You wouldn't mind signing a few things yourself."

"Of course," Watson said before turning to Dean. "I'll give you a few minutes, please use it to get dressed and not ponder the case. Catherine Ridgewood has been apprehended."

As soon as they left the room Dean stood up. He stumbled a bit when he walked, getting used to his new or rather borrowed feet and legs. He found the clothes that were laid out for him and headed straight to the bathroom.

"Dude you are pasty," Dean said as soon as he looked in the mirror. The man was pale, almost vampire like and not bad looking. His eyes were like ice. He had prominent cheekbones and thick eyebrows. There was a cupid bow lips that smiled when he smiled. "I only know your name and if this is an accident then we'll work on fixing this together, but if you did this on purpose then I will track you down and kick your ass."

The rest of the body wasn't too bad, just a little on the lean side, actually more lean than Dean had preferred. Did this guy ever eat? He removed the hospital clothes and put on the button down shirt, dark burgundy suit jacket with matching slacks and shoes.

"Where's the phone?" He felt his pockets and found nothing. Did this guy have a phone?

"Sherlock?" Watson called for him. "Are you done?"

"All set," Dean said as left the bathroom. "Where's my phone."

"I have your mobile," Watson said. He was standing next to the bed. "And your keys and wallet."

"Great," Dean answered. "Let's sign out." Dean wasn't sure how this Sherlock signed his name but the hospital staff seemed content with his signature and Watson didn't seem to notice. He did notice that one of young women working behind the desk was hot and had a bit of cleavage showing. He gave her a wink.

"That will be all," the woman said as she snatched the forms from Dean and gave him a don't screw with me look.

"Let's go home, Sherlock," Watson said a worried tone as he grabbed his arm and led him outside.

"Where's the car? I'm starving," Dean had said as soon as he felt light on his skin. He wondered what kind of car this Sherlock guy drove.

"We don't have a car," Watson said as he stared at him with concern. "Are you sure you are all right?"

"Positive. So are we calling a cab?"

"Mycroft said he would give us a ride."

"Mycroft?" Dean asked in disbelief. What was it with the names in this country?

"I can't believe you are shocked," Watson said as he rolled his eyes. From the sound of it seemed Mycroft was sort of a friend but Sherlock didn't really like him or trust him.

"When did you tell him?" Dean asked. He had caught the eye of a pretty woman as she walked past him and smiled at her. She just shook her head at him.

"Last night after your accident," Watson said. "He was a bit held up or he would have come. Molly came by for a visit after her shift ended."

"Molly," Dean muttered the name. At least that one was normal. He wondered if she was a sister or a girlfriend to this Sherlock.

* * *

Mycroft was a taller and older man who had someone drive for him. The guy had money on him, by the look of his suit. He was also just as clean and dapper as Sherlock and seemed to be disappointed in him for some reason. He also was holding an umbrella despite the fact the sky was nearly cloudless.

"Could you explain what happened?" Mycroft asked as soon as they sat down on the upholstery. He chose to sit on one side and Watson was in the middle

"Our suspect had rigged an explosive to go off and your brother was caught in the blast," Watson explained. "A bit of a miracle there wasn't a scratch on him."

"I'm fine," Dean said as he looked at Mycroft. So he was Sherlock's brother. Good lord what kind of epidurals was their mother on to name them that. "Just wondering why you weren't at the hospital watching over me."

"Does seem like something a brother should do," Watson said as he glared at Mycroft.

"I had obligations to keep, John," Mycroft said. "And really Sherlock you actually expected me to be there?"

"Well…I guess," he searched their faces for answers. "I guess not."

"Are you certain you are all right?" Mycroft asked. He stared at Dean with his lips pursed, making him feel like he was under a microscope. "I feel like I am looking at a stranger."

"With all things considering I am fine."

"You haven't talked about the case," Watson said in a surprised tone.

"Sorry, John, but you did say the suspect was captured?"

Watson nodded. "Lestrade and his men have her in custody." He had his eyebrows turned up in concern for a second though.

"Then case closed," Dean said and shrugged. He knew that sounded cold but the eye roll from Mycroft and the satisfied smile from John seemed that it was the right thing to say. He also learned what he needed to know. Sherlock and John either worked for or with the police.

"You can tell me about it later," Mycroft said as the car came to a stop. "Or I'll read John's blog. Give Mrs. Hudson my love."

"Yeah thanks," Dean said as he stepped out of the car. He was in front of a sandwich shop and a building marked 221. The street they were on was named Baker Street. He looked around him, staring at the sights and people and only stopped when he felt John's hand on his shoulder.

"I think you should take it easy," John said as soon as the car drove off. "You are acting a bit off."

"I did get thrown across the room," Dean answered and followed after him. "Nobody is going to be perfect after that."

"I still think you should sit back and rest. Don't take on any more cases until you have rested."

They entered the building and Dean was about to follow after John when he heard footsteps behind him and caught a whiff of the type of perfume that old women preferred before he felt himself pulled into an embrace. He found himself staring into short strawberry blond hair that was most likely dyed.

"Oh Sherlock," an older woman said as she continued to hug Dean. "I was so worried about what happened. I wanted to come visit but they would only allow John and Molly." She reached up to give Dean a gentle pat on the head.

"Sorry about that Mrs. Hudson," Dean said. "Mycroft gives you his love."

"Too busy to actually stop in himself is he?" Mrs. Hudson said and shook her head. "Are you hungry? I made a full breakfast for both of you boys."

"Thank you," Dean said as he inhaled the scent of eggs, sausages and coffee. He followed the scent to a kitchen table that had two plates and two mugs of steaming coffee. Each plate had two eggs, two thick sausages, two slices of toast with butter and grape jelly. There were also beans, sliced tomatoes and fried mushrooms.

"Eat up dear," Mrs. Hudson said. "You need to regain you strength."

"Will do." Dean sat down and picked up a fork and knife.

"You weren't kidding about being hungry," John said as he sat down in front of him. "When was the last time you ate?"

Dean shrugged. "Been a while." He took his first bite and smiled. He didn't care if he looked strange as he ate. He continued to shovel the food into his mouth only pausing to take a few gulps of coffee. He had two servings of the hot beverage before he had finished his meal.

"I can't remember the last time I have seen you eat like this," John said when they had finished.

"That was satisfying," Dean said as he patted his stomach.

"It was," John said and continued to stare at him. "Are you ready to return to our flat?"

"Shouldn't we help with the dishes first?"

"Don't worry your head," Mrs. Hudson said as she removed the plates. "You just work on your recovery."

* * *

Dean took a good look around the apartment as soon as they stepped inside. The walls were covered in different kinds of wall paper. There was a yellow-tan leather couch against one wall, two arm chairs in front of a fire place and one had Union jack pillow, a small table with two desk chairs, a coffee table, night stands with lamps, a fireplace with a skull on a mantle. There were plenty of book cases; one of them had a flat screen.

Dean took notices of the different forms of art including a skull painting and a painted animal skull. There was also a yellow smiley face on one wall that was full of bullet holes.

"Cozy," Dean muttered as he walked around. They had standard kitchen with a table that was full of scientific equipment. He found his or rather, Sherlock's bedroom and of course bathroom.

"You are going to be all right by yourself?" John asked. "I have asked Lestrade if I can speak with the suspect on your behalf. I know you want to question her yourself but after your accident I don't believe this wise."

"I won't burn the place down," Dean said as he sank down in the couch.

"Please don't say things like that," John chuckled weakly as he stepped out. "Try not to become too bored while I'm gone."

"I won't," Dean promised as he placed his hands behind his head and his feet at the other end of the couch.

As soon as he heard the door close he stood back up. Sam. He had to call Sam. He pulled out the phone and dialed Sam's number only to get a busy signal. He tried again. There were several rings and nothing.

"Son of a bitch," Dean grumbled. It did give him some time to think. Nobody that this Sherlock knew was aware of the supernatural and they wouldn't believe in things like spells that causes people to switch bodies. He was positive that Sherlock didn't want to be in Dean's body any less than Dean wanted to be in his. They had to figure how to reverse it, but he had to get through to Sam and he had a feeling that Sam had his phone turned off, or he left it in the car.

He might as well take a shower.

* * *

It didn't take long for him to get the shower going. It was odd to scrub a body that was not his own and felt just as strange washing those dark curls but he did manage to get clean and he tried not to stare too long at his borrowed equipment. He also restrained himself from doing what he usually did in the shower, especially when he thought of that one hot nurse he had. It was not cool to play with another man's toys.

"Now try," Dean said after he slipped into some new clothes. He found a pair of pajamas and a bathrobe and wrapped his head in a towel. He dialed the number and waited. There was one ring, two rings, three rings.

"Hello?" Sam answered on the other end.

"Oh thank God," Dean said and sat down. "You do not know how good it is to hear your voice, Sammy."

"Uh who is this?" Sam asked

"Dude you been through this yourself. It's me, Dean. I know you have to believe me."

"Dean?"

"Yes it's me."

"He was right. You did call."

"I knew you would believe me," Dean said as he sank into one of the chairs.

"Of course I believe you," Sam answered. "And he did tell me everything."

"Wait he who?"

"Sherlock."

* * *

**A/N:** Next chapter will focus on Sherlock himself.


	3. Chapter 3

_Chapter 3_

* * *

_Hopkinsville Kentucky. 6:48 am_

As soon as Sherlock had woken up he had pondered what had recently happened, even before he opened his eyes. He remembered staring at a goblet. There was a gemstone a possible sapphire or a blue diamond, or a blue emerald or blue topaz and it was illuminated. The color of the gem seemed to change from blue to red. The whole room became illuminated before he was thrown back and received his concussion.

He knew he was in a hospital. It was logical for John to bring him to one and even if he wasn't with John he knew he would be in one. He could feel the fabric of the sheet that was unfamiliar although they were trying to make it feel soft by using too much fabric softener, one that hadn't been treated with chemicals of course. He could also smell the kind of disinfectant that was used to clean the room and hear sound of the heart monitor and feel the censor on his finger.

There was something odd, something he couldn't quite figure out. He didn't feel right and that would be logical considered he was caught in a strange explosion. That had to be it. It was only rational for it to be a small bomb. He wasn't any pain and as he shifted around in the bed he didn't feel any pain, no wound that would be hurt if he had brushed it against something.

He froze when he realized he could no longer feel his curled bangs on his forehead. He reached up, wondering if a member of the hospital staff had did something to his hair. It felt like they had given him a trim. His hair was short and straight. It felt even shorter at the sides. His temples felt different and as he explored so did the rest of his face. The only logical reason was that someone had performed cosmetic surgery on his face, but for what and why.

Finally he opened his eyes. The room was barely lit and Sherlock decided to try to figure out which hospital he was in. He examined the ceiling, the window frame and sat up to look at the bed and night stand. He wasn't at Saint Bart's, or Saint Peter Baptist, nor was it Saint John or Royal Free. John wouldn't take him out of the way to get medical treatment.

"Blast," he grumbled and paused. His voice was different. It was higher in pitch and a bit gruffer. Perhaps a glass of water might help with that. He glanced over at the nightstand and the phone. He read the list of numbers to call within the facility including room service. His eyes widened when he found out the name of the hospital and its location.

"This cannot be right," he gasped. How did he get to Kentucky? He glanced out the window. Considering how dark it is he might have been out longer. He might have been kidnapped and taken out of the country and that might have been the reason for the explosion. Catherine might have been working for someone, possibly Moriarty.

A snort brought Sherlock's attention to the other side of the room to where a man was sleeping on the couch. He had assumed it was John at first and felt it was not important. The strange man was too tall to be John and his hair was too long. It was dark brown in color and he was sitting up and the angle of his back and how his head was back against the wall he could see that the man was trying not to fall asleep, of course he was Sherlock's guard.

Sherlock had a good look at the man's attire. He was dressed in a plaid shirt under a short denim jacket, blue jeans and leather shoes. A man like this did grunt work, wasn't afraid to get dirty or physical. There was also a concealed weapon strapped to his ankle under the jeans. He shouldn't be too hard to outwit and escape.

The man shifted and his head snapped forward. He woke with another snort.

"So you are awake," Sherlock said. He still couldn't figure out what was wrong with his voice.

"Dean," the man said and to Sherlock's surprise he was relieved and smiling.

"Who are you and where is John?"

"Crap," the man said took a deep breath. "You hit your head harder than thought. How many fingers am I holding up?" He held up two fingers.

"You are a bigger idiot than I thought."

"Answer the question."

"If you must insist then two. This conversation is getting rather dull."

"Dean, this is serious. You were hit by a strange explosion. You were unconscious and now you can't remember who I am and you are talking strange." He was staring into Sherlock's eyes hoping for some form of recognition. It's me Sam."

"Who do you work for?" Sherlock asked.

"Uh no one," the man was clearly worried for him by the sound of his voice and the way he stared at him.

"Why did you bring me to America and you are working for someone. I can tell a person like you is fitted for manual labor. Your physical stature gives it away as does the gun powder residue on the cuff of your shirt." He should have been able to read more clues off of him, granted the room was only half lit. "There is a tear in your jacket from a knife. You are either a hit man or an assassin. Your employer wants me out of the way."

"What the hell are you talking about?" The man, Sam asked. "I brought you to the hospital because that blast knocked you out and you always been in America, Dean."

"You keep calling me Dean," Sherlock said.

"It's your name. Dean Winchester and I am your brother, Sam."

"D-Dean W-W-Win-ch-chester?" Sherlock was at a loss for words for the first time in—he had no idea how long.

"Let me get the light."

"Please do," Sherlock said weakly. As soon as the room became brighter he stared down at his hands. They were a darker complexion, fingers not as long and they had been broken before. There was also some scaring and a bit of dirt under the nails. The scars were from knife wounds and scratches from large animals, possibly wolves of mountain lions. The callusing on the hands told him they were used to wield a variety of weapons: shotguns, hand guns and knives. He studied the arms and their muscle structure was as equally foreign to him.

"Those are not your hands are they?" Sam asked.

"No," Sherlock said. "This is not possible. I must be dreaming, but why would I dream to be your brother? Why would I dream I was a man I have never met before? It has to be a dream. This cannot be real."

"It is possible," Sam answered. "It happened to me before. There was this kid, who switched bodies with me, but he did it on purpose and I don't think you wanted this."

"No," Sherlock said as he pressed Dean's fingers together. "You said you have experienced this before. Does this happen often in this country?"

"Body switching? Not so much but the weird and unusual? Yes and it happens all over the world. You just haven't experienced it before."

"Preposterous. I would have noticed."

"Not if you didn't know what you were looking for."

"I certainly would have noticed. I notice everything. I would have come across magic before."

"Uh trust me, not even you would have noticed," Sam said

"You have no idea who I am."

"No I don't even know what your real name is."

"My name is Sherlock Holmes and I am a consulting detective." He doubted that this Sam would even know who he was.

"Sherlock Holmes," Sam repeated. "Where have I—wait you are the famous detective? You work with John Watson and the pictures of you with that hat."

"That bloody deerstalker," Sherlock sighed and then brightened. "You know of me?"

"Yeah I read about your cases online. There was the Study in Pink, the Blind Banker and the Great Game. I haven't gotten around reading the rest yet. I'm sorry."

"You're a bit of a fan?" He waited for Sam to nod. "And your brother, the one who switched with me?"

"He only looks up research for the case and porn."

"And this is the man who is occupying my body." A sudden fear entered his head. What if Dean had reacted the same way he had? "He wouldn't tell anyone what has happened?" He knew how John and Lestrade would react if they were told the truth.

"He might not look it but he isn't stupid. He would keep quiet until he knew how to act around your friends and the people you work with. He would wait until he was alone before he would try to contact me and tell me what had happened."

"Could he be trying to contact you now?" Sherlock asked.

"He could but my phone is—shit." Sam pulled his mobile out of his pocket and turned it on. It was only on for a second before it rang. "Hello?" He was quiet for few seconds. "Uh who is this?"

"I believe it's your brother," Sherlock said.

"Dean?" Another pause. "He was right you did call."

"Of course I'm right."

"He was right you did call." He glanced over to Sherlock. "Sherlock."

"Give me your mobile," Sherlock demanded. "Let me speak with him."

"He wants to speak with you," Sam said before he handed the phone over to Sherlock.

"Hello Dean is it?" Sherlock greeted.

"Hi Sherlock," Dean greeted. It was a bit odd to hear his own voice greet him. "Do you have any idea how this happened?"

"I will probably figure this out but I have only been informed of such magic existed just now. Where is John?"

"He went to the precinct to speak with a Lestrade and a witch you arrested."

"So they have apprehended Catherine," Sherlock said in a pleased tone. "Why didn't you go with him?"

"Your friend wanted me to—correction you to take it easy and I'm kind of out of my element here, pal."

"We both are," Sherlock corrected. "That does seem like John."

"I'm learning everything as best as I can here. I know you have issues with your brother Mine craft."

"Mycroft."

"Whatever. John is a great friend. I like him already and Mrs. Hudson is real sweet, not to mention a great cook."

"She cooked for you."

"This thing called a full breakfast. It's like a Grand Slam but with beans and-"

"I know what you are talking about."

"Well I didn't. I have to learn all this on my own. You have Sam over there to help you."

"Look up John Watson's blog. You will learn more about me. I'm also in the news. I'm quite well known."

"Okay so you are fam—holy crap!"

"Is something wrong?"

"What the hell man. There is a jar of kidneys in the fridge. Why are there-Uh wait you guys eat that steak and kidney pie crap right?"

"First of all it is not crap." Sherlock did not like the way Dean was insulting his culture. "Second of all those are human kidneys."

"Human kidneys?" Sam asked. Sherlock continued to ignore him.

"Dude, human kidneys?"

"Those are for an experiment. Do not break anything when you stomp around my flat like an ox."

"You have kidneys in there and no beer? There is something wrong with you."

Sherlock sighed. "I also appreciate it if you kept your hands off my violin."

"Don't worry and you don't mess with my car. I don't want you driving it. There is this whole everything being flipped over and besides do you even know how to drive?"

"Of course I do. I have one last request and that is try not to make me sound like an idiot."

"Don't make me sound like a pompous dick. "

"I believe it would be best if I put your brother back on." Sherlock handed the phone back to Sam. He wanted out of the room. He was also curious on what he looked like. He unhooked himself from the machine and turned it off before he got out of bed. The first thing he noticed was the large gap between his thighs as he walked around on bowed legs.

The man in the mirror was slightly taller than Sherlock. His hair was in between light brown and dark blond in color and cut short. He had intense green eyes, a darker complexion and light freckles that were probably more prominent when he was younger. He also appeared to have skipped a day of shaving and when he did shave he preferred to us an electric razor. Despite being out and sleeping for several hours there were dark circles under his eyes. Just one look into those eyes he knew this was a man who had erratic sleeping style similar to him. He was a man who carried a great responsibility on his shoulders.

"Mr. Winchester," a woman was crying out to him. "You should have waited for a doctor to check you out." It was one of the local nurses. She was somewhere in her late forties and early fifties and had her hands on her hips.

"I have no need of a doctor. I am quite all right," Sherlock answered.

"The hell you don't," the nurse said and despite her short stature she was able to grab him and hauled him back to the bed. "I ought to strap you down myself."

"Ugh fine let's be done with this." He glanced over to Sam who was still on the phone and shrugged in an apologetic manner.

The doctor examined his vitals while Sherlock just sat there glaring at the floor and scowling. He counted the seconds that it took to get the job done backwards in his mind. He was off by half a second.

"Everything checks out," the doctor said. "I'm surprised there isn't a scratch." He turned to Sam. "Don't let him sleep for more than 45 minute intervals for the next two days."

"I won't," Sam said.

There were some more exchanges between them that were so dull Sherlock tuned them out. He let out a sigh of relief once that medical team had left.

"Really?" Sam asked.

" There should be a change of clothes," he turned to the chair where he expected was the most likely area. "Ah there they are." He removed the hospital gown and threw it on the floor.

"Dude," Sam gasped and covered his eyes.

Sherlock ignored him as he got dressed. He had noted the locations on Dean's body where he had more breaks, the scars and what appeared to be a tattoo. He had finished with the pants and trousers and stepped into the bathroom where he examined the mark more clearly. It was mystical and cult like in design and its purpose was to protect the body in some fashion.

"What is this?" Sherlock asked as he pointed at the mark. He had just put the denim shirt on.

"Keeps demons from possessing your body," Sam explained.

"But it doesn't keep one's own soul from being switched with another?"

"Sadly it doesn't."

"Demons are real?"

Sam nodded. "I hate having to dump this on you."

"I have to know." His eyes widened. "I need to know this and in fact I want to know." All this time he had disregarded the elements of supernatural as figments of the imagination, stories to entertain. There was always an explanation and he would be able to deduce what they are to get to the truth, but now that he was in the body of someone he had never met before he had to wonder what was true and how much of it was out there.

"Demons are real and so are ghosts, vampires, werewolves, wendigos, shape shifters, skin walkers, fairies, trickster gods, angels, and a whole lot more."

Sherlock closed his eyes as he processed it all. "I will need to learn how to protect myself from these things, except for the angels."

"You want to protect yourself from the angels as well."

"Lucifer is an angel," Sherlock said. "He is described as such in the bible and other works of fiction."

"There are some angels we can't trust, but there is one we can count on. His name is Castiel and he has helped us." He held up his phone. "In fact Dean wants us to call him when we get back to the motel."

"Does this Castiel have knowledge on how to switch us back?"

"Maybe but first we still have a witch to catch. Dean wants us to finish the job."

"Track down a witch," Sherlock said and couldn't help but smile at the idea. He had help track down one and even though he wanted to be in his flesh and blood he could not resist this type of case. "Take me to your home, Mr. Winchester."

* * *

**A/N: ** Next chapter will be John's perspective .


	4. Chapter 4

_Chapter 4_

* * *

_London_

John tried not to think about Sherlock's condition as he rode in the cab to the station. He couldn't help but notice that his friend was different. Sherlock was surprised to see him in the hospital and he never did answer who this Sam person was. It was almost like he was staring at a stranger. Sherlock gave the same look to Mycroft

Sherlock was also acting strangely. It was as if they were driving around a tourist from another country with the way he was staring at everything. He was being a bit more polite than usual and he was eager to eat. His table manners were less than stellar.

"He had a head injury," John reminded himself. That was all that mattered and after a few days Sherlock will be his usual intellectual, eccentric and egotistical self, hopefully.

His mobile went off a few blocks away from the station and the call came from Mycroft. John knew that the older Holmes knew something had happened to his younger brother.

"Hello, Mycroft," John greeted. He knew why Mycroft had called. "Your brother is back at the flat recuperating."

"That man is not my brother," Mycroft said slowly.

"You mean he is not the Sherlock you know," John said as he tried to come up with some excuse. "He was in an explosion and was unconscious for several hours."

"I realize that, but he was completely different person."

"I'm afraid he might be suffering from retrograde amnesia," John said. He waited for Mycroft to answer but he heard nothing. "Mycroft?"

"I'm sorry. Is it temporary?"

"I hope for his sake that it is. He still is the most brilliant mind in the country."

"Of course he is," Mycroft said. "I hate the idea if this afflicting him, but it is the only logical explanation. Please stay close to him, monitor everything he does and tell me when there is an improvement."

"I promise," John said before he said goodbye and hung up. He had finished his call just in time. The cab came to a stop and he paid the driver and stepped out.

* * *

A few of the officers nodded at John as he entered the building. A few of them frowned at him at first until they noticed he was alone.

"Morning, John," Sally Donovan greeted as he neared Lestrade's office. "Where is he?"

"Home recuperating," John answered.

"Glad he is all right," Sally said before she sat back down at her desk.

"You actually mean that?"

"Of course I do." She frowned. "I am a human being as much I think he is a danger to all those around him I don't want him seriously hurt or worse."

"Thank you for the appreciation," John answered before he knocked on Lestrade's office.

"Come in," Lestrade answered.

"Have we a confession?" John asked as soon as he had entered.

"No," Lestrade answered. He was surrounded by stacks of paper work. The only place not occupied by paper forms was a large mug of coffee. "How is Sherlock?"

"Resting at home." He prayed that was all that Sherlock was doing.

"Surprised he isn't here," Lestrade said and took a sip from his coffee. "I thought he would be dying to find out how she did it."

"I thought it would be better if he stayed at the flat."

"And he listened to you?" Lestrade looked up at him. "That's a bit unusual for him."

"Exactly," John said as he held out his hands. "He is not acting like himself. He didn't recognize me or his brother. He wanted to know where our car was. He devoured the breakfast that Mrs. Hudson made for us."

"You don't think he has amnesia?" Lestrade asked.

"That is what I'm worried about."

"Didn't you say he was thrown backwards from an explosion?"

"I keep trying to tell myself that but it still doesn't seem like that is all there is to it." John paused to take a breath. "You should of seen the way he was staring at his food and the way he ate it."

"When was the last time he ate?"

"Over twenty four hours ago," John answered. "But that is not the point."

"You don't think the witch is real and hexed him, do you."

"No." John shook his head and closed his eyes. "I just don't know any more." He rubbed his forehead and sighed. "That explosion did something to him. I just know it."

"You want to speak with Ridgewood?" Lestrade asked as he stood up. "I know I do. I have been signing papers for last two hours and my wrist needs a break."

"Take me to her."

* * *

Catherine Ridgewood was the same as she was when John had last seen her. She was still seemed scared of everything and had her knees drawn to her chest and her arms wrapped around her legs.

"Catherine Ridgewood," Lestrade greeted her. "Are you ready to confess?"

"I didn't do it," Catherine answered. "My hands are not clean of blood but I did not murder them. I didn't murder anyone."

"What about the explosion?" John asked.

"I don't know how to explain that one," Catherine answered as she raised her head

"But you know how to explain the murderers?" Lestrade asked.

"Alyssa did it. She is the one. You have to stop her. She's gone mad with power."

"Alyssa?" John asked. That was not a name they had come across in the investigation.

"She's my cousin in Kentucky; In the city of Hopkinsville."

"Your cousin from America came here?" John asked.

"She killed them from over there. Her magic is that strong." Her eyes were brimming with tears. "I tried to protect them. I hid the bags so no harm would come, but her powers are stronger than mine. She had altered the bags somehow. She turned them from items of protection to items of malice."

Lestrade nodded at her before he gave a look to John and John had to agree this woman had gone mad, or at least John thought she has gone mad. He glanced back at the DI out of the corner of his eyes and noticed how intrigued Lestrade and there was a bit of worry in his eyes.

"You have to stop her," Catherine said. "I should have never have showed her how to perform the spells. I should have never told her how they had upset me." She rose to her feet. "I wish I never found that book. It has caused nothing but trouble."

"Who had upset you?" John asked. "And why should of you never told her?"

"Neighbors," Catherine said softly as she looked away. "People I knew and customers. Those who are now dead thanks to her." She closed her eyes. "We talk a lot over the phone and through email and I have a blog that she reads. That was how she knew. I wish I never said anything." Tears trickled out of the corners of her eyes.

"She killed those people because they upset you?" John asked. "You and your cousin were that close?"

"Always visited each other during the summer and holidays," Cathrine answered. She blinked away her tears and stared back at them. "Alyssa Montgomery has to be stopped. She wants to be a demon. She told me about this spell. She needed the sacrifices. Please you have to stop her."

"I think we heard enough," Lestrade said before he turned away. He was trying to feign disbelief but John had noticed the way he bristled at the word, demon.

"You have to stop her," Catherine said as she threw herself against the bars. "Stop her before she takes another victim, stop her before she becomes a true being of pure evil."

"Maybe we should look it up," John said as walked alongside the DI only looking over his shoulder to see the pleading look in Catherine's eyes.

"We might as well have a look," Lestrade agreed.

* * *

"Donovan, tell me if there are any recent murders in Hopkinsville Kentucky," Lestrade ordered as soon as they returned.

"Why?" Sally asked. She had begun typing into the computer.

"Just do it," Lestrade answered as they watched Sally work. "I hope nothing turns up."

"Or if it does and her cousin is innocent," John added.

"Or made up."

"Sir," Sally said and waved her hand to get their attention. "There had been two murders in the past two days and both are quite unusual. A man drowned in a washing machine and a woman had her organs cooked from the inside." She shuddered.

"I'll give their local authorities a call," Lestrade said. "I'll let them know to look for an Alyssa Montgomery and tell them her cousin had informed us that she is the culprit."

"Yes sir."

"Will that be all?" Lestrade asked as he glanced at the screen of the Hopkinsville sheriff's office for the number.

"Let me know if this actually leads to something," John said. He can now focus on his flatmate. "I'm going back home."

* * *

John wasn't exactly sure what to expect when he returned to the flat, then again he never did, not with living with someone like Sherlock. The man could be shooting at walls, or decorating the ceiling with pencils or playing violin in the nude. There was a time when he was sitting upside down on his chair, eyes closed and moving his hands around in an odd manner. Sherlock had said he was in his mind palace. There was another time when it looked like he was making a small fort out of every book in the flat.

Sherlock was sitting at the desk dressed in his pajamas and bathrobe and he had a towel wrapped around his head. He was staring intently at the screen of the computer and it was John's laptop and not Sherlock's. He hadn't even noticed John had returned. That didn't seem like anything out of the ordinary. If fact Sherlock seemed to be back to normal.

"Anything interesting?" John asked, breaking the silence

"Didn't even know you were here," Sherlock said without even looking at him. That was normal, maybe he did just need to rest a bit.

"We got something out of Catherine Ridgewood," John said as he glanced over his shoulder. To his surprise Sherlock was reading his blog. "You are reading my blog?"

"I needed something to do and it was there."

"You must have been very bored."

"Don't sell yourself short, my friend," Sherlock answered and closed the browser. "Did she confess?"

"Yes and no," John answered. "She said she was upset with the victims and she put those bags with the bones-"

"Hex bags," Sherlock said.

"Hex bags, but she said she was trying to protect them."

"Protect them from who or what?"

"She said she had a cousin in Kentucky who is more powerful than her and she…" He trailed off when he saw that Sherlock's eyes had widened and he rose to his feet. "Is something wrong?"

"Where in Kentucky?" Sherlock asked.

"No, do not even think about it," John warned.

"Just tell me where."

"Hopkinsville," John answered.

"What else did she say?" Sherlock asked. His voice had an urgent tone. "Tell me everything."

"She said it was her cousin and that her cousin was trying to become even more powerful with a few sacrifices and she was right about the deaths."

"The deaths."

"Don't give me that look you are not hopping on the next flight to Hopkinsville."

"How did they die."

"Drowning and organs were cooked internally," John answered and he could have swore Sherlock muttered an "son of a bitch," under his breath.

"The name of the cousin, John. I need the name."

"Alyssa Montgomery."

"Alyssa Montgomery," Sherlock said and he pulled out his phone. He typed out a text.

"Who are you sending that to?"

"Someone I have worked with in the states. He had mentioned he was working on a similar case to ours and I just gave him the right information."

"Why haven't you mentioned that before?" John asked.

Sherlock shrugged. "Didn't seem to be relevant until now."

"Of course," John answered. That was a very Sherlock like thing to say. "I feel like a cup of tea."

"I'll have one," Sherlock said and sank back to the couch with the phone in his hands.

John put on a pot with enough water for two cups. He had selected his favorite tea cup along with the one his friend used before and set them down on the only clear space on the counter. He was going to have to talk with Sherlock about putting things away.

John froze when he heard the telly being turned on but shrugged it off. Sherlock did watch the screen on every now and then. He listened as Sherlock kept changing the channel and pausing when he had found something.

"A little television might be what we need," John said as he returned to the living room with two cups. He set his down on the coffee table and handed the other to Sherlock.

"Thank you," Sherlock said and stared at the cup to examine it before he took a slow sip as if he was trying something new even though they had been drinking this brand for the past few days. His eyes widened as he stared at the cup. "Just perfect." He took a bigger sip.

"Did your friend text you back?"

"Just to thank me."

John nodded and sat down. He was curious to see what his friend had decided to view.

"Seriously?" An American woman on the show asked. She was dressed as a doctor.

"I'm sorry," another doctor said, also American. "But the surgery is not necessary. Your sister only wants it because she is vein about her dress size."

"She needs it."

"I refuse to perform it." His answer was met with a slap in the face.

"What is this?" John asked. "Seems like one of those American hospital shows."

"It's called Dr. Sexy M.D," Sherlock answered. "They are having a marathon."

"I never knew you had an interest," John said before he took a sip from his cup.

"Guilty pleasure."

John chuckled Sherlock did have a few guilty pleasures when it came to the telly. He continued to watch with his friend, having to bite his lip to keep from yelling at the screen when the show did something wrong.

Sherlock's phone rang after the episode had ended.

"Hello?" Sherlock had blinked. "Molly?"

"Tell her you can't go," John told him.

"The chest is clawed at?" Sherlock asked as he stood up. "Like an attack by a wild animal?"

"You still need to recover. You haven't been acting like yourself. You even have Mycroft acting worried on your behalf."

"We'll be right there," Sherlock said and hung up.

"What did I just say?" John rolled his eyes. "Why am I asking? You are not going to listen to me are you."

"Guess what John? I'm recovered and we have to go."

* * *

**A/N:** First I like to thank all of my followers for following me and thanks for all the reviews and faves.

Next Chapter will focus on Sam and Sherlock.


	5. Chapter 5

_Chapter 5_

* * *

_Hopkinsville Kentucky_

It was an odd adjustment for Sam. He had driven Dean around before, usually when his brother in dire need of sleep. Driving the famous consulting detective back to the motel with the detective looking and sounding like his brother that was the detail that was unusual. He knew what it was like to be in a body that was not his own, but in this case both Dean and Sherlock were victims of who knows what.

He had to listen to Sherlock grumble and complain about how dull and ridiculous the task of signing out was while they filled out the paper work and once the doctor was positive that Sherlock was fine they were able to check out and by then it was fifteen minutes past seven in the morning. The hospital usually didn't check people out at that hour but with Sherlock's attitude and Sam flashing the fake badge they were able to leave.

"Tell me more about what you do," Sherlock said as soon as he had buckled himself in the Impala.

"We hunt things," Sam said and wanted to kick himself for sounding so stupid. "Ghosts and monsters and everything that goes bump in the night. We travel around the country looking for cases. We find out what we are up against, and do some research and then kill the monster.

"You mentioned ghosts," Sherlock said as he pressed his fingers together. "How do you kill that which is already dead?"

"We find their remains, salt them and set them on fire," Sam explained. "If the bones are cremated we find any remains of their DNA, lock of hair, finger nail clippings that sort of thing and burn that."

"Salt," Sherlock repeated. "Salt is of the earth making it pure." Sam had to give the man credit for catching on.

"And it repels ghosts, and disembodied souls. They don't like iron either. The same for demons, but demons are more powerful. You can trap them in a devil's trap, exorcise them with the right words and they burn when you throw holy water on them."

"Like vampires."

"Uh no. Sometimes the lore is wrong. Holy water does nothing to vamps. You can only kill them with decapitation."

"How can you tell if someone is possessed by a demon?"

"They act different than normal and talk different. Kind of like how you are now, but demons are more cruel and malicious and right now it's just your soul in there. Their eyes shift color." He paused and noticed that Sherlock had just nodded. "Mostly their eyes are black. Crossroad demons have red eyes and those that are more powerful have yellow or white eyes."

"Crossroad demons?"

"You meet them at the crossroads any crossroad in the world and they make a deal. They will give you anything you want whether it is to save someone's life, or fame or fortune or to bring someone back from the dead…" He trailed off. No matter how much he tried he couldn't stop feeling guilty about the fact that Dean sold his own soul to bring back Sam.

"Sell them their soul," Sherlock finished for Sam.

"Yeah on average the seller has about eight to ten years to live and then the hellhounds come for them."

"Have you seen one?"

"No they are invisible, but you can hear them bark. Those who times have run up can see them. Dean said he saw one when they took him. They were ghostly, dark with red eyes."

"That is neat," Sherlock said. His eagerness grew. "An actual hound from hell and not a genetic experiment or a hallucination from a drug induced mist"

"No," Sam answered and blinked. "You saw something that looked like a hellhound."

"I had a client that was plagued by the beast, but it was all because of a hallucinogenic drug released in a mist."

"Wow," Sam said under breath. "I wish that was all there was to it here."

"Dean was in hell? You said those who had years run out would see the hounds"

"For about four months and then Castiel pulled him out," Sam answered as he parked the car in the motel parking lot. "And you are about to meet Cas."

* * *

Sam filled in Sherlock a little more on how to kill demons and witches before they entered the room. It was a standard room with beige walls decorated with standard framed paintings of flowers and sail boats. The two beds had the false headboard that hung over each bed. The beds themselves had a dark blue comforter on top and two pillows each. There was a nightstand with a sailboat lamp and phone in the middles. There was also a dresser, round table with two chairs, TV and a fridge in the main room.

"This is where we will you will summon him?" Sherlock asked as he glanced around the room. "Standard and cheap room, most often used for one night stands." He walked around. "Most of those are with prostitutes." He paused in front of the television and picked up the remote. "There are a few buttons that have been almost worn, certain number combinations for the same channels that have been watched this most often. These are for the local news stations, pornographic movies and the weather channel."

"Do you have a weather channel in England?"

"We have something similar, but I have also stayed in a few hotels and motels here in America before." He drummed his fingers on the fridge and opened it. He studied the inside and sniffed. "Used to store leftovers from the nearest restaurant and there is still a bit of a scent. Even when they clean it they can't get rid of it all."

"That's how you do it," Sam said in an impressed tone.

"I usually able to determine the details faster than this," Sherlock said as he rubbed the side of his head.

"That is still pretty neat to watch," Sam told him.

"I will stop now and let you perform the ritual."

"It's not really a ritual," Sam answered and closed his eyes. "Dear Castiel who art in heaven, this is Sam and we need you right now. Dean really needs you but he is not here, please help."

"You just pray to him?" Sherlock asked dumbstruck.

"Sometimes that is all—"He stopped when he heard the familiar sound of wings rustling. "Cas?"

"Hello Sam," Cas's voice was behind him. Sam turned around to see the angel as standing behind him.

"He just—He just appeared out of nowhere," Sherlock gasped as he pointed at the angel.

"I thought you said Dean wasn't here," Cas said and stared at Sherlock for a few seconds. "You're not Dean."

"Yes," Sherlock said in a pleased tone. "You were able to deduce that?"

"I stared into your eyes and saw your soul," Cas answered. "Your name is Sherlock Holmes. You live in London in an apartment marked 221B and you live with John Watson, an army doctor who was in Afghanistan."

"Yes," Sherlock said in a giddy tone. "Outstanding it is different from the way I do. This is a divine power right here, but it is not every day I come across someone like me and an actual angel. This is quite fascinating."

"You two can flirt later," Sam said.

"I was not flirting," Cas protested and turned to him. "Dean is in Sherlock's body?"

"Yeah. Can you put them back?"

"Can he?" Sherlock asked in a hopeful tone.

"I am not certain. I will have to have a good look at both of you."

"We will book a flight once we are done," Sam said. "Dean wants us to finish a job here."

"And you need my help?" Cas asked.

"Just need to be reassured," Sam told him. "We are investigating murders and the culprit is a witch. We just—"

"Want to make certain that another demon like Samhain will not be summoned?" Castiel finished for him.

"Yes," Sam said as he held out his hands.

"There is no mention of a powerful demon being summoned in heaven," Cas answered. "I will still be happy to assist you if it means helping Dean and Holmes return to their proper bodies."

Sam heard the sound of a text message being sent to his phone. He held up a finger and pulled it out of his pocket. It was from the same long number as before.

"It's from my phone," Sherlock said as he looked at the numbers. "Dean is trying to contact you. He can't speak with you because John had returned to the flat."

"Yeah it's from Dean," Sam said as he read the text. "Alyssa Montgomery."

"Who is that?" Cas asked.

"One of our three potential suspects. Dean says she is the one." Sam typed back. "ARE YOU CERTAIN?"

YES Dean sent back. TRYING TO USE A SPELL TO BECOME A DEMON.

"He said she is trying to become a demon," Sam answered.

"Is that possible?" Sherlock asked.

"Souls that are taken to Hell are tortured and beaten for years, decades, centuries until the good is removed and they become evil," Sam answered. "But they don't instantly become demons." He looked at Cas. "Do they?"

"They do," Cas said. "Not many know about the spell. It requires three sacrifices and three items from the sacrifices. The first is the cleansed hand of one who repairs."

"The repairman," Sam said.

"The second is the tongue of a teacher of the word of God and the third is the heart of a creator."

"I have no idea who the creator is but we know where Alyssa Montgomery lives," Sam said. His phone rang and the number came from the sheriff's office. Sam and Dean had spoken with a Detective Bryson along with the local Sheriff about the case.

"Agent Koenig?" Detective Bryson was on the other side.

"This is he," Sam answered. Dean was using Agent Kelly for their aliases. It was Dean's idea to use the names of Star Trek actors.

"This may sound strange but we got a tip from London that our murderer is Alyssa Montgomery," Bryson said.

"From London?" Sam tried to feign surprise.

"Apparently they have a similar case over there and their suspect outed ours."

"You want to meet at her house?"

"We are already here and she isn't. We also have a report that Connie Milling is missing. She's a local artist."

"A creator," Sam whispered. "Detective I think I know where we can find them both." He gave them the address of the abandoned house.

* * *

They have arrived at the house before the police did. Castiel rode with them even though he could have teleported ahead. Sam figured it was because he was fascinated with the detective and vice versa.

"This is where it happened," Sam said as he stepped out of the car.

"The accident that caused us to be in this mess," Sherlock said as he pointed at himself. He had put on Dean's FBI suit and a coat where he raised the collar up.

"Dean's body is not a mess," Cas said.

"With the way he eats and drinks it is not clean and orderly," Sam said.

"I was not implying that," Sherlock said.

"Keep quiet," Sam told them.

The house was not as abandoned as last time. Sam could hear chanting coming from the direction of the living room and he and the others slowly approached the room. His face fell when he saw the third victim on the ground with her heart cut out of her chest.

"Not one more step," Alyssa said. She was naked save for a simple black satin bathrobe. Her golden blond hair that was held into a simple bun when she was last interviewed now fell in loose waves around her shoulders.

The altar that Sam and Dean had encountered before was also different. There were six lit candles on it along with a bowl that was filled with dark red liquid. A blood stained knife was placed next to the bowl.

"Don't do it," Sam said as he aimed his gun at her. A voice in his head told him to just plug her right then and there, but another voice told him to not lose his cool and to just talk to her, hopefully it was not too late.

Alyssa blurted a few Latin words and Sam's gun went flying, earning a gasp form Sherlock.

"You are going to make a big mistake," Sam said. He cursed himself for not listening to the first voice.

"Me?" Alyssa asked in a coy tone. "You are the one making a mistake agent. You were here before weren't you?"

"We both were," Sherlock said.

"That was not very nice of you to break into my home and touch my things." She waved her finger at them. "You didn't put my stuff back where it belonged."

"This isn't really your home," Sam said. "And I didn't really touch any of your stuff." He wasn't sure if Dean had touched it either. He didn't know what Dean had done to cause him to switch bodies with Sherlock.

"Did you enjoy the book?" Alyssa asked as she glanced at the detective. "Or were you more interested in my drink ware?"

"What do you know about it?" Sherlock demanded.

"I know enough." Her mouth had yet to lose that smirk. "You are different from the last time I saw you."

"Which is not enough about that spell," Sherlock said.

"I know more about it than you."

"You have deluded yourself into thinking that. You may have the knowledge of casting spells but you lack the wit to know the true consequence of the action. You have yet to encounter a true demon because if you had then you would know their true nature and know what would happen if you became one."

"You seem pretty sure of yourself," Alyssa said. She squinted again. "It looks like you did make a wish or the original owner did. This is pretty sweet that I can look inside and see the real you."

"This was you?" Sam asked.

"Not me. The blame lies on the goblets. Too bad the other one is going to have to live his new life permanently, because I feel like having fun."

"You are only a second rate witch," Sherlock growled. "You have absolutely no idea what you are doing or hat you are up against. I know that demon's lack a solid or corporeal form. Once you become a true demon your body would simply cease to exist and you will simply be nothing more than black smoke."

Alyssa chuckled. "You know nothing, human. The spell is complete I am a demon." Her eyes turned black as she held up her hand and thrust it out.

Sam felt the wind knocked out of his lungs as he and Sherlock were thrown back against the wall.

"My meat is still the same and so nice and fresh," Alyssa said as she ran her hand down her front. "It's just inside that changed. I have so much to do and play. I think I'll pay my cousin a visit. She is the one that ratted me out, right?"

Sherlock chuckled. He and Sam were still pinned against the wall. Normally Sam would ask Dean why he was laughing at time like this, but this wasn't Dean. He knew that Sherlock had some kind of plan.

"What is so funny mortal?" Alyssa asked.

"Just that you might want to look behind you."

"You think I'm going to fall fo—"A pair of fingers grasped her neck. Castiel spun her around and laid his palm on her forehead, creating the flash of light in her mouth and eyes, signifying the fact that a demon had been killed. He dropped her body and stared at it in disgust.

"Cas?" Sam asked as the hold on him and the detective was removed.

"I heard what I needed to know," Cas answered.

"That was your plan," Sam said as he put two and two together. "I just told you what angels did to demons." He smiled at Sherlock. "And you made her reveal herself."

"Obviously," Sherlock said. "Once I saw the dead body and missing heart I knew the spell was complete. I was a mere distraction for Castiel here."

"That was pretty good," Sam said. "It looks like a consulting detective can be a hunter."

"Not alone," Cas said as he glanced towards the door.

"Police open up!"

"The suspect is dead!" Sam shouted back before several cops poured through into the house and ran towards them. Detective Bryson elbowed his way through the front. He was in his late forties with a balding head and beard. He let out a deep breath when he saw both the bodies of the artist and Alyssa.

"Too late," Sam said in a sad tone. "She killed her last victim."

"Deluded into thinking she was an actual witch she consumed her so called potion and poisoned herself," Sherlock added.

"God damn," Bryson sighed and shook his head. A few of his officers made the sign of the cross over their chests. "At least it's over."

Sam nodded. It was over for now. The next step was to arrange a flight to England and get the souls switched back.


	6. Chapter 6

_Chapter 6_

_London_

* * *

Dean only half listened to John complaining and shouting at him to not get involved with whatever it was that Molly wanted to show him at the morgue. The only thing he focused on was the fact that there was person who had his chest clawed at and from the description she gave him it sounded like something tried to open up his chest and get to his heart and that can be a handful of things, some of them he and Sam had actually came across before. It could have been just a rabid dog, or an escaped wild animal. Then again when did he ever hear about such an attack before that was caused by something so mundane? For all he knew the victim could have been attacked by a hell hound.

The only problem with storming off to find out whether it was an animal or a monster or just some psycho that had attacked was the fact that Dean had no idea where he was going. Lucky for him John had followed after him and after a brief argument they had called a cab.

"Not talking?" Dean asked. He made certain to change into an outfit similar to what he saw in the news pictures online. He wore a crisp purple shirt; dark pants and that coat and blue scarf that the detective always seems to wear. He even plopped on the hat with flaps.

"No," John answered. He had what Dean would call his bitch face.

"Do you think I can be tamed?" Dean opened the door to the cab and waited for John to get in before he scooted in next to him.

"Of course not. I just wish that once in your life you would listen to me, especially when it concerns your health."

"Where to?" The cab driver asked.

"Saint Bart's," John answered without even looking at the driver. He continued to glare at Dean.

"There's nothing wrong with me," Dean said and leaned back in the seat.

"You always say that."

"And?"

"And there is always something wrong with you," John answered. The corners of his mouth turned up into a smile. The man was like a faithful golden retriever puppy and seeing him smile like that caused Dean to smile. Only a second passed by before the John started to snicker and Dean couldn't help himself but to laugh alongside him.

"Feel better?" Dean asked.

"I do," John said with a shrug. "I think in all honesty I'm just tired of these gruesome murders. First those three that were done in by Ridgewood and now this attack. I'm just worried that by the end of the week we will hear about bodies that have their insides turned out or heads have exploded or something just as ghastly."

"Rather just have a good old stab or bullet wound?"

"Yes. I know I know you think it's boring."

"Sometimes you need a little bit of mundanity in your life. It cleanses the pallet."

* * *

The morgue at Saint Bart's was very clean and white and reeked of cleansers and alcohol. There was also the scent of formaldehyde. There were cold metal tables with various equipment used to examine dead bodies. Dean was no stranger to these even though Sam was the one who tended to notice the little details first.

"It's over here," a female voice said. A young woman in her earlier thirties approached them. She had warm brown eyes and light brown hair in a ponytail. She was smiling too much for someone who cut up corpses for a living, but she was pretty.

"Hello, Molly," John said.

"Molly," Dean repeated the name. He noticed the earrings in her ears. They were pricey but not too expensive. "Are those new earrings?"

"Why yes," Molly said as her smile grew.

"How did you know?" John.

"They are very clean and have the shine and sparkle of jewelry that was recently purchased. They are real gold but a low karat. The gemstones are a cubic zirconia and by the slight pink coloring in your ears I know haven't worn anything in your ears for weeks and you should really get that looked at." He rubbed his head. What the hell was he saying and thinking?

"I did put on a little alcohol," Molly said as she gingerly fingered her ears

"I think they look nice on you," Dean said and earned a strange look from John and Molly. This Molly gal had the hots for the detective. Dean wished she was wearing something a little more revealing. He could think of something else. He walked around her and decided to focus on her rear. That was a pleasant site to look at and as he stared he could almost see the outline of her panties. She was wearing a bikini cut and they framed her backside quite nicely.

"Oh," Molly gasped. "Thank you for liking the earrings." She turned around to face him, still smiling. "Thank you for liking the earrings?" She placed a hand against her forehead. "I can't believe I said that."

"Don't worry about it," Dean said. He never lost his smile which was causing her to blush.

John cleared his throat. "The body?" He was giving Dean an odd look.

"Yes the dead guy," Dean said.

"Right here," Molly said and pulled out a corpse and set it on one of the bare tables. There were deep bloody gouges in the man's chest as if something was clawing at it over and over.

"Good Christ," John said as the color drained from his face. "Who could have done that."

"Who or what," Dean answered. He studied the body. It was a male mid-thirties and slightly overweight. The man worked in a butcher shop from the slight bit of dried blood under his nails and he was trying to hide the fact he was married. The man also favored his left over his right…and damn it he was doing it again.

"Find anything?" Molly asked.

"Just the minor details about how he lived and that part is boring. I'm more concerned about how he died." He grabbed a magnifying glass and studied the gouges in the chest. There was no animal hair to be found, not a single dog hair. He also remembered glimpsing out of the window of the cab and noticed the moon was full the night before. Still due to the aversion of the apocalypse or the fact that Eve had returned for a short time the rules had changed.

"Found anything?" Molly asked.

"Not yet," Dean said and continued to look. He smiled when he found the fragment of a claw embedded in one of the ribs. Just as he had thought, werewolf. He found something else as he examined the body. There were a few threads. There was also a round bruise that wasn't that noticeable.

"Got it," Dean said as he used a petri dish and tweezers to fish out the threads and claw fragment. "There is also a small bruise made by the knee of whoever was forcing him down. It was made while the vic was still alive."

"His name was Victor?" John asked. "How could you have known that?"

"Vic as in victim," Dean answered. He glanced over at Molly and she seemed to have expected him to do something. He noticed she was also looking at the microscope. "I believe these threads belonged to the murderer." He placed the threads on the slide and looked. "These are silk, just as I thought they could not have belonged to the victim seeing as he was a butcher and had recently gotten off work. Even if he was able to clean up and change into something else it would not seem likely that he would wear something made of silk."

"Now all we have to do is arrest every man in town with a silk suit," John said in a sarcastic tone.

"Not all. We just need to narrow it down to the people he knew." Dean knew that one of them was angry at the butcher or saw him as a threat while they were still in human mode. "Now if you excuse me I just need to step out for a bit."

* * *

As soon as Dean had stepped into the long hallway he grabbed his head and groaned. What the hell was wrong with him? He wasn't that smart. The words just spilled out of his mouth and he couldn't stop once he was on a roll. Where was all that coming from?

There was a rustling sound, feathers rustling and it was the most beautiful sound to Dean's ears. He looked up and saw his friend. The angel was standing only a few feet from him. He had smiled for a few seconds at first before returning to his usual devoid of all expression face.

"Hello Dean," Cas greeted.

"Cas," Dean said before he ran up to the angel and embraced him. "You have no idea how glad I am to see you." He stepped back away from his friend

"Sam told me to go to you."

"Where is he and Sherlock?"

"On their way to the airport," Cas answered. He stared at Dean. "It is strange to see you in there."

"No kidding," Dean answered and let out a sigh. "I have to see this whenever I look in the mirror and that is not the latest."

"You seem upset."

"There is something wrong with my head," Dean said and pointed at his temple. "I feel like the kid in Flight of the Navigator with all these thoughts just being beamed down in me. I was reading people. I knew all these details that most people don't look for."

"That's how his brain works," Cas said.

"Great I'm thinking with his brain. I gotta get back to my body before I cease being me and end up as him and he ends up being me."

"It won't work like that. He won't have your memories or your personality. He knows what to look for. He is just not as fast as he used to and it is starting for frustrate him."

"What are you saying, Cas?"

"Both of your ways of thinking have been merged in a way. He is relying on memories and you are using his cortex."

"So we have the best of both worlds?" He waited for Cas to answer but the angel kept staring at the door. "Cas?"

"We are about to have company."

A group of people had entered. There were many in uniforms that consisted of black slacks and yellow jackets that made Dean think of crossing guards and police hats. They were led by a man in a suit. Nearly everyone frowned at the sight of them and a few glanced at Cas with curiosity.

"John called us in," the leader of the group said. He was older with graying hair. He wasn't bad looking in an Anderson Cooper sort of way. He also was the only one not giving Dean the stink eye.

"Right," Dean said. He had no idea who these people are and he decided it would be best to keep his mouth shut until he learned their names.

"Looks like you are no longer needed freak," a black woman said as she shoved past him.

"Bye now," a man with a ridiculous hair style said. He had a smarmy expression on his face.

The older man sighed. "I will call you if I need you." He followed after his group.

As soon as they were gone Dean turned to Cas. He searched the angel for answers before he turned back to the room he was just in a few minutes ago.

"What just happened?"

"I am not certain," Cas answered. "It seems a group of local authorities were called in."

"They better not be giving John or Molly a hard time," Dean grumbled as he glanced through one of the windows to the room. The group of officers had pooled around the dead body and the older man spoke with John while the guy with the bad haircut talked to Molly.

"They seem to be just talking," Cas said as he also stared through the window.

"I've seen enough." Dean headed back to the room.

"Is this wise?" Cas asked as he followed after Dean.

"Probably not but I want to know who they are."

* * *

Several of the cops glared at him as he and Cas had entered. The older man and the black woman were both staring at the vic in disgust and asking similar questions that John had asked earlier about what could of done such a thing.

"I called Lestrade," John said and pointed at the older man. "While you were getting dressed and didn't want to listen to reason."

"You didn't tell me," Dean said as he studied everyone More of those little details were flashing in his mind such as what a couple of them were eating when they were called in, how one's shift was almost over and how another had a haircut recently, but none of them told him who these people were.

"You ran out of the flat and didn't bother to wait for me. I knew trying to tell you would like yelling at a brick wall"

"Makes sense," Dean said. "The cops should know. It is standard procedure."

"You are suddenly concerned about standard procedure?" The woman asked.

"It was obvious he was going to call you," Dean said.

"We're here now," the same smug dick with the bad hair said. He waved bye at them with one hand before pointing at the door.

"Anderson that is enough," the older man said. "What can you tell me about the victim?"

"Well it appears to have been an animal attack of some sort," Anderson said as he studied the body.

"Way to go, Captain Obvious," Dean said. He looked over to Cas who just stood there. Nobody seemed to be that interested in him except for Molly who had a bit of recognition on her face for some reason.

"What kind of animal?" The older man asked.

"It looks like a large dog, or a wolf," Anderson answered. "I don't see anything resembling hairs, nor any bite marks."

"There is a claw fragment and some silk threads by the by that microscope," John pointed out.

"They were on the victim," Dean answered.

"Silk threads?" The woman asked.

"Why do we need silk threads?" Anderson asked. "Who cares what he was wearing?"

"Not him," Dean answered. "The culprit wore a silk shirt."

"So it finally fizzled out," Anderson said regaining that smug face again. "We both know it is an animal attack and you don't need to be here anymore, so you can shove off now, you and your boyfriend."

"I'm not his boyfriend," John and Cas answered at the same time.

"If you take the time to look at the claw you will see it does not belong to any animal that you have come across before," Dean answered. "The threads were found in the body and do not match what the butcher was wearing."

"The wolf belonged to the man who wore a silk shirt?" Anderson asked.

"You are wearing a silk shirt," the woman said.

"I don't have a wolf, or a dog, or a cat or even a freaking hamster," Dean said. He had no idea what anyone's problem was. "And my shirt is purple those threads are a pale blue color. If you actually went to look then you wouldn't be making wild accusations."

"Of all the people to lecture us on wild accusations," Anderson said and shook his head. "I think you did hit your head to hard and now you are off your rocker and no use to us. Good riddance if you ask me."

Dean had enough of this Anderson. He gave him the one finger salute and earned a room full of gasps and dropped jaws.

"Sherlock!" John shouted. "What has gotten into you?"

"The use two fingers over here," Cas said. "Crowley gave me the same gesture with two fingers once." He lowered his head. "When we were working together."

"Who is this?" The woman was first to recover and pointed at Cas.

"Old friend," Dean said and placed a hand on Cas's shoulder. "This is agent Hagar from the United States FBI."

"I have a badge," Cas said and pulled out the fake badge and once again to Dean's consternation it was upside down. When the hell was he going to get it right?

"This is a little joke between us," Dean said as he flipped the badge for his friend. From the various expressions he could tell they were buying it but Molly still had her mouth opened and she was deep in thought. One of these days he was going to have the angel practice showing his badge until he got it right all the time.

"What is your business?" Lestrade asked.

"To investigate crime on a federal level," Castiel answered, earning a face palm from Dean.

"Is he always like this?" Lestrade asked as he stared at Dean.

"He's always been a bit of a smart ass," Dean said and gave Cas a look. "Tried to lighten me up."

"A high profile murderer has left our country and came here," Cas said. "I was hoping to work with the local authorities in apprehending them."

"I didn't receive any notice," Lestrade said and crossed his arms.

"You will receive the reports soon," Cas said. "It's probably at your desk as we speak."

"Then we'll speak after I receive the report," Lestrade told him. "I'll speak with both of you."

Dean got the hint. "I'll expect your call soon." He followed after Cas. "How did you know what to say?"

"I looked in your eyes," Cas said.

"Sherlock," John said as he followed after them. "Do you care to explain yourself?"

"I was expecting Agent Hagar and left to speak with him," Dean explained.

"Not him," John said and pointed at Cas. "No offense."

"Why should there be?" Cas asked. "I don't understand why."

"Is he all right?" John asked.

"Your friend is fine," Cas said. "Unless you were asking De—Sherlock."

"He's suffering from a bit of jet lag," Dean said and nodded at Cas.

"And as for you," John grabbed Dean by the arm. "We are going back to the flat."

"If this is about my recent behavior I will simply inform you that my limits had been tested." He folded his arms. "Dealing with Anderson after my accident had pushed me over the edge."

"We are going home now," John said as he reached for his arm. "I knew you were not ready."

"Will you just cool it already?" Dean said as he pulled away. He looked for Cas but the angel had left.

"Cool it?" John asked. "Do you not hear yourself?"

"Yes, yes I do. So?"

"Please Sherlock; just let me take you home." This was painful to him. The poor man seemed to be on the verge of crying from the worry.

"Fine," Dean said softly. He will inform John of the truth when the right time had arrived. He couldn't just bare to let him suffer anymore.

* * *

**A/N**: Once again thank you to all who are following.


	7. Chapter 7

_Chapter 7_

* * *

_New Berkley, Kentucky._

Sherlock was woken up from his brief nap in the passenger side of the car by Sam's gentle shaking. They had been driving for over an hour. The closest airport was in New Berkley and before they checked out of the motel Sam had purchased tickets. The flight was in two in the afternoon and they had to change planes at LaGuardia.

Sherlock had spent time in deep thought and visualized himself playing his violin, earning an odd look from Sam. Even though it was not real he could actually hear the music in his head and it had helped relax him. He had listened to Sam tell him about some of the past hunts while they ate breakfast sandwiches, a type of breakfast he usually didn't eat but the combination of sausage, egg and cheese on a muffin was one of the most delicious things he had eaten in a while. Finally the motion of the car had relaxed him to the point of falling asleep.

"Sorry," Sam said after Sherlock had woken up. "Can't let you sleep too much, even though we know what you happened you still hit your head.

"There was no sign of any contusions," Sherlock said. "But it doesn't hurt to veer on the side of caution." He sat up and stretched and wondered if they were closer to the airport

The simple tweeting of a bird was heard. It was a text tone and most likely Sam's. It could also be Dean's but he had a feeling the older brother would have used something else, possible a rude sound effect, of just the simple twang of a guitar. That seemed more fitting for him.

"Who is texting?" Sam asked and handed Sherlock his mobile. "You don't mind."

"You need to keep your eyes on the road," Sherlock said and read the message. It came from Sherlock's own mobile. The angel was with Dean and pretending to be a federal agent. He needed some official forms to be sent to Lestrade. "Cas needs an official form sent to Lestrade."

"Oh forward that to Garth," Sam said and held up his fingers. "He's in my list of contacts."

"Already done," Sherlock answered. He had already looked up this Garth person and repeated the message along with the number to Lestrade's division. "Who is Garth?"

"He's a hunter who keeps in touch with all hunters. He acts as a superior officer or a head agent when someone doubts we are who we say we are he tells them to shut up and work with us."

"He will be able to forge the proper paper work?"

"His methods are different from ours and may seem ridiculous," Sam said. He shrugged. "Yet he gets it done. He will have the paperwork ready and sent to Lestrade before you can even blink."

Another text came through. This time it was about werewolves and wanting to know the phone numbers of hunters who lived in the area. What was he doing looking for a case at a time like this? He is going to get everyone suspicious if he keeps it up.

Sherlock scowled as he read it. "Your brother wants someone to contact local hunters about a werewolf."

"He's working on a case?"

"He's hunting werewolves in my body." Sherlock closed his eyes and sighed. "I wonder what he is telling John."

"Hopefully he is not acting like himself."

"That would be a disaster." He decided it was time to call and speak with Dean. He used Dean's phone and dialed his number.

"Hello?" Sherlock's own voice reached his ears.

"Are you alone, Dean?" Sherlock asked. He had to wait for Dean to be in a secluded area before he could even think about speaking with him

"On the subway can't talk now," Dean answered. "Almost at the apartment."

"Call me when you can," Sherlock answered and sighed. He was with John right now and that idiot was already messing things up by using American colloquialisms out loud.

They entered the airport exterior and Sam was reading the signs looking for an area to park. Sherlock kept staring at his phone and sent a text asking NOW?

NO.

"Damn," he muttered under breath. This was getting frustrating. He just had to know what Dean was doing in his body right now. He tapped his fingers against the upholstery while he waiting, keeping to the rhythm of the music that was playing. He had noticed the collection of cassette tapes, somewhat amused that Dean would cling to such an outdated way to listen to music. Sam had chosen not one of the tapes and turned the radio to an American top 40 station instead.

A few minutes had passed and the phone rang.

"Now we can talk," Dean said on the other end. He sounded strained and a little exasperated with him.

"What are you doing in my body?" Sherlock demanded.

"This is why you called? Dude you really need to learn some patience. Your friend is about to either have a heart attack or an aneurism from worry if you keep calling like that?"

"He is most likely worried because of what you are doing. Why are you hunting a werewolf?"

"Your girlfriend called and said she came across a body that had deep claw marks." Girlfriend?

"I do not have a—"You mean Molly?"

"Yeah…wait are you telling me you are not hitting that?"

"No, I am not." Ugh and could Dean be even more crude and what's worse those words were coming out of Sherlock's mouth. "You are not using such words around her or John?"

"There is something wrong with you. I was able to identify the body, not the name but his profession, his habits and the fact he was eating fries or chips as you call them over here. Your brain is weird man and it's giving me a headache."

Sherlock blinked. "You are able to analyze and deduce in the same manner as me?"

"Cas told me our knowledge and ways of thinking have merged. You relying on memory on how to do it and I'm just thinking it." So that was why Sherlock felt like he had slowed down.

"That would keep John and the others convinced…as long as you don't act like your usual American self."

"Too late."

"Who else was witness to your behavior?" Sherlock wondered what kind of damage Dean had done and how was he going to repair it."

"There was John, Molly, Lestrade and a bunch of cops that think you are some kind of freak, including that douchebag Anderson."

"Anderson," Sherlock growled out the name. "Why am I not surprised he annoyed you with his idiocy?"

"God I wanted to deck him."

"All in good time," Sherlock said, trying not to laugh. He would love to see Dean strike Anderson, but with Dean's own fists of course. "You have to restrain yourself."

"Huh?"

"Stop being you."

"I don't think so. If I'm me then wouldn't it be easier to convince your friends that I'm you and you'r me?"

Sherlock was silent. Dean's idea was a solid one and he should have come up with it. It did seem like it would be a perfect plan and might be easier for when he and Sam arrive in London. It would be late when they arrive and most people would be asleep. He would hate to give Mrs. Hudson a fright and John would have no idea who he was. This might be for the best."

"You okay?"

"I'm fine. My brain is benefiting you quite well." He had noticed they were in a large garage. "We have reached our destination. I want you to carefully explain this to John, and try to act like me with everyone else."

"Yeah, yeah, I got it. Call ya later."

"Bloody yank."

"Freaking Limey."

Sam was laughing when Sherlock had hung up. He gave the hunter a disapproving glare as he placed his mobile back into his pocket.

"I am pleased you were able to find amusement in this," Sherlock said.

"Hearing you bicker with him," Sam said. "And your accent is drifting more and more as you talk."

"My accent?"

"Dean sounding more and more British every day."

"Oh. I didn't mean," Sherlock said. He had noticed that Dean was making himself sound more and more American.

"We have a few hours before our flight," Sam said and opened the door.

Sherlock stepped out after him and helped unload the few packed bags they were going to bring on the flight out of the boot of the car. As they closed the lid he had a feeling they were not alone.

"Hello boys," the voice was low and rich in a cockney accent and it came from right behind them.

"Crowley," Sam snarled the name as he spun around and glared at the stranger.

Sherlock turned around to have a good look at the man. He stood at 1.73 meters with dark receding hair and a developing beard on his face. He was about late forties in age and wore an expensive custom made suit from a skilled tailor. He stood with a pride. He was someone who was sure of himself. From the way Sam staring at him with a face full of hate he could tell this was an enemy and considering how he had just appeared Sherlock had figured he was a demon.

"Samantha," Crowley said and nodded at Sam. "And Dean." He blinked and squinted at Dean. "Or rather Dean's suit. Who is this behind the wheel I wonder?"

"My name is Sherlock Holmes," Sherlock said in a low tone. . "I can tell I am talking to a demon."

"Brilliant and accurate guess," Crowley said. "But not just any demon mind you. You have the honor of speaking with the king of hell."

"I do not need to guess," Sherlock said. "I made the simple observations based on the way you suddenly appeared out of nowhere and the reaction from Sam."

"So this is what Dean sounds like when he is smart." Crowley's smile grew and he raised his eyebrows. "I knew I heard that name. I read about you and I have to say I'm quite impressed, although not as much as a certain admirer of yours."

"Admirer?" Sam asked.

"He is speaking of only a few and there is only one who a demon would know. His name is James Moriarty."

"That's the bloke," Crowley said and pointed his finger at him. "Brilliant and creative. I'm a subscriber to his methods and have been watching him every now and then. His voice can be a bit annoying but I'll overlook that. I might have to worry he would try to overthrow me when it's time to collect."

"He sold his soul to you?" Sherlock asked. That wouldn't surprise him.

Crowley shook his head. "Don't need to. You think someone like him is heading upstairs."

"From what I read," Sam said. "No."

"Don't know what he would make with all this." The demon pointed at Sherlock. "I am curious at how Dean is walking around in your shoes, and skin and bones."

"Why are you here?" Sam asked. "We are not going to tell you where Kevin or the other half of the tablet is."

"What kind of moron do you take me for? I am actually here to thank you."

"Thank us?" Sam asked.

"Obviously a trick," Sherlock said.

"Not a trick. You did me a bit of favor with that wannabe when you killed her, or rather when Castiel killed her."

"You were happy we killed a demon?" Sam asked.

"To be honest there is no love when you kill most of my men and women." He noticed the way they were looking at them and rolled his eyes. "Hello demon here and king of hell."

"It is not often you thank hunters for killing your soldiers," Sherlock said.

"This one wasn't even a real demon, not by my standards. To become a demon you have to do it the right way. You let your soul be strung out, flogged a bit, tossed here and there, chewed on by my pups and spat out. You have to feel like you're in hell; experience it in all of its burning and bloody glory." He held out his arms. "You don't just get the instant gratification with a bit of magic."

"She cheated on you," Sam said.

"It felt like that and we have rules," Crowley said and held up his fingers. "You honor contracts, you don't collect early," he paused in ticking his fingers off and nodded at Sam. "You don't make contracts out of duress or force people into them by threating to blow up their house first unless they sell you your soul…there have been a few stories…you don't use magic to become a demon and you don't sit in my chair."

"You have a special chair?" Sam asked. "Is it a throne?"

"It's a very special chair. The frame is made from the bones of child molesters, stuffed with goose feathers and covered with the flesh of newborns. It has been modified to vibrate and massage. Almost like those magic fingers you find in those motels you lot tend to sleep in"

"Ugh enough," Sherlock said and held up a hand. "The conversation is getting dull."

"More to the point you did me a favor, now I'm not going to repay you lot anything. I just felt like coming here and telling you. Although you did leave a few things behind."

"Like what?" Sam asked.

"This," Crowley said and held up a leather bound book. "This was how she was using the spells. It also has the recipe for instant transformation." He ripped out a few pages from the book. "These will be burned."

"What are you going to do with the rest of it?" Sam asked.

"Curious today aren't we, Moose? I'll keep it around; maybe use it in a deal."

"Was there a goblet?" Sherlock asked. "Pewter with a symbol of shield and embedded with a blue gemstone."

"I did not see anything like that, not unless goblet has become the new slang for bong and none of those are as fancy as you described." He turned to Sam. "Our business is not done. We will speak again, but first I think I'll go visit the old homestead."

"You were born, raised and died in Scotland," Sam pointed out.

"My meat suit's old homestead. I haven't been there in half a century." He paused and pursed his lips. "Well I have been there several times for business and not for pleasure. Might even pop in on the real Dean."

"You stay away from him," Sam growled.

"He's a big boy. He can take care of himself." Crowley disappeared into thin air. He just faded out of view and even though Sherlock had seen Castiel do the same thing it was still a bit of a shock.

"You haven't mentioned this Crowley before," Sherlock said after a few seconds.

"I was hoping you wouldn't come across him," Sam said. He picked up his bags.

"I hope you won't mind if I ask about your history with him," Sherlock said as he picked up Dean's bags and followed.

"First came across him in Oh Nine. He was actually helping us at the time, but he was really serving his own personal interest. Then after we defeated Lucifer he took over Hell."

"You defeated Lucifer?" Sherlock nearly dropped one of the cases. "You defeated The Lucifer?"

"We do have long wait until we can board," Sam said. "I'll tell you everything."

"Tell me from the beginning."

* * *

**A/N:** Last chapter that is set in America for a long time.


	8. Chapter 8

_Chapter 8_

* * *

"I knew we shouldn't have left the flat," John said as he practically dragged Sherlock out of the morgue of St Bart's. His friend's condition was worse than he had thought and now he was embarrassing himself in front of everyone, even more than usual. At first it seemed Sherlock's behavior was normal. He had noticed details about Molly and he gave a mutilated corpse a thorough examination, but then when Lestrade and his officers arrived it changed. He was saying things he would never say and the Sherlock he knew would never use such a gesture, even in front of Anderson.

"A friend asked for a favor," Sherlock answered in a calm tone. "Can't just let her down like that."

"You should have just left Lestrade take care of it."

"I doubt he knew what to look for."

"That doesn't matter right now."

"Doesn't matter?" Sherlock asked and placed his hands on John's shoulder. "This might not be the only one. He could have been the first one and there could be others but the one thing that I know is that this thing is going to keep on killing and eating hearts until we gank it."

John stared into the eyes of his friend, looking for a sign on why he was acting and talking like that. Mycroft was right. This wasn't Sherlock, at least not the Sherlock that he knew. What had that explosion done to him?

"John, I'm sorry. I want to tell you everything," Sherlock sighed. "But the truth is you wouldn't believe me."

"I'm your friend. If you can't trust your friend then…" He stared at the ground and walked past him. He didn't know what to say. The fact that Sherlock didn't trust him felt like a punch to the gut at first but that was followed by the feeling of being slowly deflated. He had hoped that deep down somewhere Sherlock would trust him, at least the real Sherlock that he knew

"Where are you going?"

"Home." John refused to turn around and kept walking.

"How?" Sherlock caught up with him and stood in front of him.

"What do you mean how?" John asked. "I'm going to take the tube."

"I promise I will tell you. When we are home after we had some tea, or maybe something stronger. You should be sitting down." His voice was sincere as were his eyes and his smile. "Please don't walk away from me." He held out his hand.

"Let's get you home," John said and accepted it.

* * *

The ride on the tube was mostly quiet Most of the other passengers kept to themselves and a few glanced over towards them and then looked away. A few recognized them and either whispered to their companions and pointed back at them or pulled out their mobiles. John appreciated the fact that no one tried to take their pictures. He was not in the proper mood for that nor did he want to be arrested for knocking out other people's mobiles and stomping on them.

John kept looking at Sherlock to see if there was a hint of what was wrong with him. He had thought it might have been just a bit of amnesia at first, but Sherlock was acting like someone else. He was using slang and colloquialisms that were used in America. Now that he thought of Sherlock's accent was sounding more and more American. He only slipped back to his true self when he was making his observations and deductions. John felt like he should try and retreat into a mind palace of his very own and try to recall every little bit of medical knowledge that he had read or come across, no matter how obscure, until he found out what was wrong with his friend.

"On the subway can't talk now," Sherlock said into his mobile. "Almost at the apartment."

"Who was that?" John asked. He hadn't even noticed that Sherlock's ringtone had gone off. He did take note that he once again used words that were more commonly used in America.

"I really can't say until I explain everything," Sherlock said as he stared at his phone.

"Can you answer a few questions?"

"It depends on the questions."

"Do you remember Harold my brother?"

"Your brother?" Sherlock asked and bit his lower lip as he tried to remember.

"He had that gambling problem and it got worse after Carla left him."

"Is he inviting us to dinner and you don't want to go?"

"No," John choked out as he leaned against the back seat. It was as bad as he had thought. His friend had lost his memories and was trying to act like he knew John. A part of John did feel a little pleased with the idea that Sherlock was pretending to remember. It meant he still wanted to be his friend. There was still something deep inside of him that was still the true Sherlock Holmes.

John kept staring at his friend. He hoped that Sherlock would reveal what is wrong with him. Sherlock was still staring around him trying to take in everything. It was almost as if he were riding around in the tube for the first time. It was going to take a lot of time and work to restore his friend's memory. He no idea about the Americanisms or where they came from.

Sherlock scowled when he received a text and typed a simple answer before he sent it back.

"Was that the same person?" John asked.

"Yes," Sherlock answered in an annoyed tone. "I told him I would speak with him later. It had only been a few minutes."

"Well here is our stop," John said and stood up.

* * *

Thankfully Mrs. Hudson wasn't home when they returned. It would break her heart if Sherlock had forgotten everything about her as well. She didn't notice his strange behavior from before but she was more worried about him being thrown out of a room in an explosion and she just wanted him to rest and recuperate.

"I have a call to make," Sherlock said and held up his phone. "Well talk when I'm done." He walked through the kitchen and straight to his bedroom.

"I'll put on a kettle," John said and went into the kitchen. They were going to need a full kettle and bottle of whiskey. His own phone rang when he was looking for the bags of tea. The number came from Molly.

"Hello John," Molly greeted. She sounded anxious.

"This is not the best time," John said. He was able to hold the phone against his head while he thumbed through the bags of tea. "Sorry if that sounds rude. I think something is wrong with Sherlock."

"This is somewhat important," Molly said. "And it does relate to Sherlock in a way."

"Tell me you noticed he was acting strange."

"He was acting a little bit odd, at least odd for him."

"Only a little? Molly he was checking out your bot—never mind that. You remember what he had done to Anderson."

"I-I didn't really notice either," She paused to clear her throat. "I am calling about Sherlock's friend from the FBI."

"Agent Hagar?" John asked. He had forgotten about the strange man. He didn't even remember where he had gone. It just seemed like had disappeared. Now that he thought about it that man was also odd with his backwards tie, upside down badge and answering Lestrade's questions in that manner. Sherlock had said he was joking but the tone of that man was devoid of any emotion.

"He's not FBI," Molly said. "I don't know how to explain this."

"Take a deep breath," John said. Why was he not surprised Agent Hagar was not a federal agent and why would Sherlock lie about him?

"There was this series of books published in America. They weren't real popular but they had a cult following with message boards and even a convention. Some of the stories are only available online. In one of them two of the characters were pretending to be federal agents and one is an angel and he had his badge upside down."

"Like agent Hagar," John said.

"He looked just like the description of the book John, he looked like Castiel."

"That doesn't make any sense," John sad. Why would Sherlock befriend someone who was a fan of these books and play along. The whole situation was getting stranger and stranger and he had no idea how he would be able to make any sense of it.

"I excused myself from Lestrade and his men and went looking around on the Net and there was this site called Ghostfacers. They were also in one of the books, but this wasn't part of the story. There was a video where they encountered Castiel and it was the same man." She paused to take a breath. "It was the same man we saw not long ago. He had one of the books with them and these people were surprised to see it."

"It sounds like it's a popular fan site."

"Why would anyone put that much time and energy into making look that real?" Molly asked. "And for such a small fan following?"

"You are not implying these people are real?" John asked. First Sherlock and now Molly?

"I don't know what to make of all of it," Molly said. "I think I should take the rest of the day off, maybe look more into this."

"I would recommend that be for the best," John answered. He heard the kettle whistle and removed it from the stove. He turned to pour it into a tea pot.

"John Watson," the man that had been called Agent Hagar was standing in the kitchen

"Holy," John dropped both the phone and the pot. His mobile cracked and hot water jumped out and struck John in the foot and ankle. He cringed at the excruciating pain from the boiling hot water. "Son of—what the bloody hell are you doing here!" He limped towards the direction of the sink. "How the hell did you get in here?"

"I'm sorry," the fake agent said and waved his finger. The water returned to the pot and the phone was instantly repaired.

"H-h-how did you do that?" John asked as he pointed at the pot and mobile. He no longer cared about the pain.

"I'm an angel." The man kneeled down next to John and placed his hand on his ankle. The pain was instantly gone.

"An angel," John said and pulled up his trouser leg. There were no burn marks. "That is impossible."

"You do not believe in our existence?" The man asked and stared at him with an intense focus. "You used to pray in the morning before you saw your patients. You used to pray before every battle and continued after you were shot in the shoulder. Did you lose faith?"

"No. I believe in a higher power. I just don't believe it is possible that you are an angel."

"Even after what I have done?" He pointed at the tea kettle.

"I really don't know," John said as he stared at the man and then at his mobile and then his kettle. His eyes were not playing tricks on him and he had felt the hot water, but there were no burns and the pain had left when the strange man touched him. "Are you really an angel?"

"I am."

"Castiel is your name?" He might as well guess and used the same name that Molly had used.

"That is correct," Castiel said and tilted his head.

"I was just informed you were a character in a story."

"Several actually. The prophet was proficient in his writing."

"Prophet?" John asked. He had just encountered an angel and now this.

"Being a prophet he was attuned to the two men who would prevent the apocalypse from happening."

"That would explain it," John said as he picked up the pot and set it on the counter. His mobil rang again. "Molly?"

"John, what happened?"

"You were right the books were real and Castiel just appeared. Now is not a good time. I promise to call you back ." He hung up and turned to the angel. "Why did you come here?" He felt like he was being rude. This was an actual angel and he should be more respectful. "Would you like a cup of tea?"

"I usually don't need to drink," Castiel said. "But I will like a cup."

"I'll get another." This was going to be an interesting blog post. Maybe he shouldn't write about the fact that he was having tea with an angel.

"As to answer your question on why I am here it is about your friend."

"You know what is wrong with Sherlock?"

"We were waiting for the right time."

"He said when he was done with his phone call." John gestured to Sherlock's room.

"That's not," he suddenly scowled. "Excuse me." He disappeared leaving nothing behind but the sound of feathers rustling.

"I was visited by an angel," John said in a thin voice and chuckled. "I have spoken with an angel." He should have felt more blessed.

"Get out!" The voice of the angel echoed from Sherlock's room.

"Sherlock?" John asked as he stared at the door. He wondered why the angel hadn't just walked in but Castiel's voice had taken on an urgent tone before he left. "Castiel?" He heard a strange voice from behind the door before he opened it. Only Sherlock and the angel were in the room.

"Was there another angel in there?" John asked.

"That was the opposite of an angel," Sherlock said. "Glad you didn't get to see that stain, Johnny boy."

"What?"

"He was a demon," Castiel said.

"Ah yes angels and demons." John said. "It is all perfect. First you act strange, Sherlock and then angels and demons are popping up the flat."

"Don't have to worry about demons," Sherlock said as he gave Castiel and pat on the shoulder. "But Cas here saved me from one of his lectures. "

"You two seem to know each other," John said

"Cas and I share a bond and have shared the bond said he pulled me out of hell," Sherlock said and walked through the kitchen. He waited for John and Castiel to follow him before sat down in his chair. "You might want to sit."

"Let me get the refreshments," John sad and went back to the kitchen. He poured three cups and set it on a tray along with three spoons and the sugar bowl. He brought it out on the coffee table before he returned to the kitchen for three shot glasses and a bottle of whiskey.

"That should do it," Sherlock said as he helped himself to one of the cups. He took a sip, pursed his lips and added a spoon of sugar to the tea. "Interesting."

"Is there something odd about the tea?" John asked as he sniffed his cup.

"No. I just never really liked it this much. I rarely drink it but now I like it. This tea tastes good." He stared at the angel. "It's because these are his taste buds?"

"That would be the most likely answer," Castiel said. He stared at his cup and spooned in some sugar before he took a taste. "This is good."

John felt a bit relieved that the angel enjoyed his tea. He didn't want the angel to be upset with him.

"Now for the truth," Sherlock said.

"Finally," John said.

"Well for starters I'm not Sherlock."

"You are not." John blinked

"Physically he is," Castiel said. "His soul and personality is different."

"You're friend and I had were hit by the same kind of mojo from the same kind of magic object and we switched bodies."

"That is not possible."

"You didn't believe it was possible for me to be an angel," Castiel reminded him.

"Right." John rubbed his head."Who is in there?"

"I'm Dean. Dean Winchester. I'm a hunter and I work with my brother in the states of course. We drive around looking for cases."

"Cases?" John asked. "You are not detectives?"

"Nope. Well we do solve them by figuring out what kind of monster we are fighting, or who the ghost is and gank them."

"You are someone who hunts monsters and ghosts?"

The other man nodded. "It's what we do. That is why I was anxious to get to the corpse. Heart missing means a few things and those things are something we hunted. Even though it didn't get the heart it was still the same monster."

"Really?" He still couldn't believe it.

"Monsters are real. All of those things you read about and were terrified of are real."

"They are real?" John asked. "And you said you switched bodies with Sherlock?"

"Not on purpose," Sher—no not Sherlock said.

"No of course not," John chuckled and grabbed the bottle of whiskey. Forget the shot glass he was going to need the whole bottle. He tilted back his head and chugged.

* * *

A/N: Posting this on the double birthday of Benedict and Jared


	9. Chapter 9

_Chapter 9_

* * *

They had been talking for hours, well it was mostly Dean talking and John drinking and asking questions. Cas was mostly quiet but he said a few things every now and then. Dean had thought that would be for the best while he explained who he was.

"We tracked the witch down to an abandoned house," Dean explained as he recalled the events that led to his and Sherlock's predicament. "She wasn't there but we found her altar and then Sam and I split up to check out the place for more clues. I came across a strange book and a goblet and the next thing I knew the gem was glowing and it grew brighter and then bam I'm out and I wake up like this." He gestured to himself.

"Could have been worsh," John slurred. His eyes were bloodshot and watery and he was bobbing back and forth. He could barely hold the bottle that was nearly empty. "You could of woken up like thish." He tried to point at himself but he nearly poked himself in the eye.

"You aint bad looking yourself," Dean said. There had been times when he felt like he was going to have to bolt towards the couch to catch the other man in case he toppled over, but John hadn't.

"You are kinder and-" John paused to shake his head. "Pleash sssstop that. People talk too much about ush being together."

"Okay." Dean looked over to Cas and wondered if people here had made the same kind of speculation of John and Sherlock as they did with him and the angel. He wondered why people keeping making jokes like that, but in most cases it was people who weren't human. People have also said the same about him and Sam until they were informed they were brothers.

"Continue." John took one more swig from the bottle and set it down on the table, nearly missing the edge.

"You went to talk to your local witch here and then told me what she said. I gave the news to Sam and Sherlock about the one we hunted and ding dong the witch is dead thanks to them and Cas. I thought I could just relax but then Molly gave us a call and after examining the body I deduced it was a werewolf."

"Then I arrived," Cas added

"And here we are," Dean said as he stretched out in the chair.

"And now there is a werewolf in London," John slurred. There was only a tenth left in the bottle and Dean had noticed that it had started out three fourth's full. "A bloody werewolf."

"The blood would only be around his mouth and fingers," Cas said.

"It's what they say here," Dean said. "It's a bit of a swear." He turned back to John. "At least it's not an American werewolf." He chuckled.

"Uh?" John asked as he rubbed his head. "Oh you mean that movie. Do you make jokesh like that all the time?"

"Not all, just most of the time."

"A Sherlock that jokes," John said and placed his head down on one end of the couch. "Not sure if I can get ushed to that."

"This is only temporary," Dean said before he finished his second cup. Tea really did taste good. He wondered if he should try it once he got his own body back. He usually only drank it when it followed after the word iced. "Once the real Sherlock and Sam arrive then Cas will switch us back."

"Not certain," Cas said.

"What?" Dean asked. He was glad that he had set his cup down or else there might have been a mess on the floor. He wouldn't have dropped it but there would have been tea on the floor from his startled hand shake. "Dude you can fix this. I know you can."

"I have to see what kind of process was used. I have to look into both of your bodies to see what is the cause. There is the possibility this might be permanent."

"Don't say that," Dean hissed. The idea had never crossed his mind before. He was counting on his angel friend to put them back. If Cas wouldn't be able to then they were screwed. He wasn't sure if he could pretend to be Sherlock Holmes for the rest of his life. The apartment was decent place to live. Mrs. Hudson seemed like a great landlady and John was a good friend, but it wasn't home. His home may have four wheels, his food came out of drive-throughs and his bed was never the same, but it was home and part of his life. His home would never be complete without Sam.

"Sorry Dean. I felt like I had to bring it up."

"Not now." Dean nodded towards the couch. "Don't want to freak the poor guy out anymore."

"I don't think it is possible, not in his current state."

Dean glanced back to the couch. John was quiet and still with his eyes closed. The sound of his breathing meant he was asleep. That was what the poor guy needed, to get drunk and sleep it off. A couple minutes passed and John opened his mouth and soft snoring came out.

"Do you need me to stay?" Cas asked. He stared at his cup and took a small sip from it.

"I want you to stay," Dean said. "At least until Sam and the real Sherlock shows up. Don't tell anyone what you just told me."

"But-"

"No," Dean held up a finger to silence his friend. The only sound was John's snoring as it grew louder and louder. "They are not going to know because I know you will be able to fix this, or help us find another way." Cas was silent. He was staring at his tea again and when he looked up he was staring at the wall. "I have faith in you. I know you can do this."

"I will try." He looked down at his cup and then into Dean's eyes. "I will try my best."

"That is what I want to hear."

Dean knew he wasn't going to get out much in the way of conversation out of Mr. Stoic and Mr. Snores A Lot and he was getting hungry. He went to the kitchen to try and find some food. He found a package of cookies called Jammy Dodgers and some pears. There was not much in the fridge, aside from the jars and ziplock bags containing various body parts. Dean did find some cheese that smelled all right and tasted like cheddar. He ate his snack and offered some to Cas who declined.

"I have to go out," Dean said as he turned on John's computer. His password was easier to figure out than Sam's. "Need to go grocery shopping." He was curious about what kind of bookmarks and favorites John had but went straight to Google instead.

Cas said nothing. The angel was just sitting on the chair and staring at John.

"Did I piss you off?" Dean asked he looked up where the nearest grocery store was and there was a place called Sainsburys that was within walking distance.

"I was thinking of all the different ways that I could possibly help," Cas said.

"Thanks," Dean powered down the laptop. He'll use it to look up some porn later. He had a feeling John had also looked up some porn before. The guy was a soldier and was easy to talk to. He was the type that Dean could sit back with, drink a beer and just talk and they probably had a lot of common interests. "I'll be back shortly." He checked Sherlock's wallet. There was a credit card and plenty of cash. "Our money is kind of bland compared to this. I wish ours were more colorful."

"Do you want me to come with you?" Cas asked.

"I can handle shopping on my own." Dean slipped he wallet back in the pocket.

"I would like to observe."

"Why would an angel need to learn how to grocery shop?" Dean asked and grabbed a set of keys. "I need you here to work on the putting us back, to watch John and if he wakes up to tell him where I am. I don't want him to worry any more than he already has."

Cas nodded.

"Good. If Sam calls tell him I went shopping." Dean nodded once more to his friend before he left.

* * *

It was easy to navigate around the store and find what he needed. Dean had the presumption that since it was a foreign country things would be really different. England wasn't that different from America. He was able to find the basics like milk, eggs, orange juice, bread, and apples. He found a package of fries, a package of battered fish and a case of beer. He even found a frozen fruit pie. He paid no "attention to the people who just stared at him.

"Even us famous detectives need to shop," Dean had said to a few people who had recognized him. The employees didn't bother him after asking him if he needed help looking for anything and Dean assured them that he was able to find what he was looking for and thanked them.

"Huh," he said when he paused in front of a display of rum. He didn't expect to find hard liquor in a grocery store.

"Surprise isn't it?" Crowley's voice was behind him. "They got spirits here."

"You," Dean said as he spun around to face the smug demon. "What the hell do you want?"

"Didn't get the chance to talk earlier," Crowley answered. "Popped in for a visit and then angel boy barges in and tells me to leave." He shook his head. "You need to teach your boyfriend some manners."

"Why are you here?" Dean asked. "I can assure you won't find Kevin or the other half of the tablet here."

"You and the moose assumed that is the reason for my visit."

"Then why are you here?"

"I wanted to get a good look at you," Crowley said. "How does it feel wearing a nice English suit?"

"That's it. You just wanted to see me in a different body?" He glanced around him. There was a few bottles of tequila ten feet away with the packs of rock salt tied to the bottle. He would be able to burn Crowley within seconds.

"Are you using his brain?"

"It's like having a new super power."

"You know the saying, mate. With great power comes great responsibility."

"And it would be my responsibility to ice the villain." Dean smirked and pointed at him. "That would be you."

"Touché," Crowley said. "You are aware that your current body is devoid of anything that can keep a demon out?"

"Are you aware that Cas is still in town and I can just pray and he would be here in an instant."

Crowley was taken back. "I see. Well I leave you to your shopping. I recommend the Glenkinchi Scotch if you can find it. I doubt my favorite is here." He strolled into an aisle.

"I don't care what you recommend," Dean said as he followed after him only to find that he had disappeared. Damn Crowley and his suggestions. Damn him and his cocky walk and smug little smirk. He was up to something. It might not have been about Kevin or the tablet but he wanted something. Dean didn't have time to think about that. He had to pay for groceries and get back to the apartment.

* * *

Cas was still sitting in John's chair and staring at John as he slept on the couch when Dean returned with the food. The angel didn't move. He didn't even look up at him as Dean dropped the keys on the nearest end table and carried the bags to the kitchen.

"Uh Cas it would be nice if you got off your butt and helped," Dean said.

"I thought I was," Cas said without looking away.

"Sorry," Dean said as he placed some of the bags on the counters and a few bare locations on the table. "I ran into Crowley while in the store."

"Crowley?" Cas had jumped from the chair. "Why didn't you call?"

"I can handle myself," Dean said. "How's sleeping beauty?"

"Still sleeping," Cas said as he grabbed a container of juice.

"Juice, milk, and eggs go in the fridge," Dean said knowing that the angel might be confused. "The fish, fries and pie go in the freezer. The bread, apples, beer and whiskey stay out."

"Are you aware there are jars with human organs in here?" Cas asked.

"I know. Guy is a genius and a nutjob." They moved around the jars trying to fit in containers. "I still don't get why Crowley was here. He said he wanted to see me like this."

"He must have an ulterior motive. He wants the other half of the demon tablet."

"Well duh," Dean said and rubbed his head. He had a headache. "I want to know why else. There has to be something." He strolled back into the living room. What could Crowley want? He tapped his head. "C'mon super brain. Work for me."

"What did he say?"

"He said this body is vulnerable to demon possession but you're here so none of his goons is going to get it. He also recommended a type of Scotch which I did not get."

"This is English whiskey," Castiel said as he studied the bottle.

"This is going to chew at me," Dean said as he rubbed his head. His headache was growing and it was getting harder and harder for him to concentrate.

"Someone is at the door," Cas said. The angel was better than a doorbell.

"Sherlock," the kind Mrs. Hudson called to him. "Detective Lestrade is here."

"If he is not alone I don't want to talk to them." Dean had not the patience for the London police.

"He is," Mrs. Hudson said. "Someday you will answer the door yourself."

"Send him in," Dean said and turned to Cas. "He wants to talk about the werewolf victim. Don't say anything about werewolves."

Lestrade seemed even more confused and frustrated than Dean was feeling. As soon as he stepped inside he glanced at Cas and then at John before turning to Dean. His lips were pursed up and his gaze was focused. He was in deep thought, but looked like he was waiting for Dean to say something.

"I know you know why I'm here," Lestrade said after nearly a minute of silence.

"You know I bought pie?" Dean asked and smiled. His grin faded when Lestrade didn't chuckle. "You need my help with the case."

"I'm starting to think John was right about you," Lestrade said. He turned back to John. "What's wrong with him?"

"He's drunk," Dean said. "He's drunk and I have a growing migraine and I can't think straight."

"Why was drinking?" Lestrade picked up the nearly empty bottle. "What did you tell him this time?"

"Dean had informed him that he and Sherlock had a mystical accident that resulted in them switching bodies," Cas answered.

"Damn it, Cas," Dean said and smacked his forehead.

Lestrade blinked. "Come again."

"The soul of Dean Winchester is in the body of Sherlock Holmes," Cas said.

"What is he on?" Lestrade asked and pointed at the angel.

"On the floor," Cas answered and stared at the ground. "I'm standing on the floor."

"Is he for real?"

"I am real," Cas said. "My real name is Castiel and I'm an angel."

"That's enough," Dean said and glared at his friend. "Dude what the hell?"

"I also like to know," Lestrade said and stared at the bottle again. "Was John the only one drinking?"

"I will prove it," Cas said and disappeared. Followed by the sound of a bottle breaking.

"Ugh," Dean said and rubbed his head. "Everything he said was-"

"I have returned," Cas said and held up a box of donuts. "This is your favorite?" He stared at the broken whiskey bottle and with a wave of a hand the bottle was restored.

"Good Christ," Lestrade gasped.

"I'm not Christ. My name is Castiel."

"What the hell are you?" Lestrade asked as he backed up into the wall. "How the hell did you do that?"

"He's not lying about being an angel," Dean answered. "Or the fact my real name is Dean."

"This can't be real," Lestrade said as he almost tripped from walking backwards.

"You are denying it but you know deep inside that it is true," Castiel said as he continued to stare at him. "You are aware there are demons out there. Ask yourself if they exist then what else is real."

"Wait," Dean said as he held up his hand in a time out gesture. "What the hell is going on?" He turned to Lestrade. "What does Cas mean?"

"He speaks of the truth," Lestrade said and turned to Cas."You said you are an angel. Are you, are you?"

"He is," Dean said. "And I'm actually an American. I'm not a genius detective. I have a GED. I crack jokes, know my pop culture and enjoy burgers and beer. I drive an 67 Chevy Impala around the states with my brother, Sam and we hunt ghosts, demons and monsters and I kinda got switched with your detective friend."

"I see," Lestrade said and swigged the last of the whiskey. "I'm going to need more."

"Great," Dean said and threw up his hands. "Seriously, Cas, why did you tell him?"

"He is someone who is close to Sherlock. I know he can understand."

"Everyone understands with a bottle," Dean sighed. His headache was getting worse and he felt his nerves getting more and more frazzled.

"Hold on there," Lestrade said after he set the bottle down. "You said you hunt demons?"

"Demons are one of the things we hunt, and you know they are real?"

"I have run into people like you before." He rolled up the cuff of his pants leg and rolled down his sock. A black anti possession tattoo was marked on his calf.


	10. Chapter 10

_Chapter 10_

* * *

Greg rolled up his sock and his trouser cuff down almost immediately. Nobody in Scotland yard knew about his tattoo and he was certain that John didn't know about it either. Sherlock on the other hand might have known, the man knows almost every detail about everyone but he hadn't said anything.

"You know about demons and hunters," Sherlock or the man inside Sherlock's body had said before he turned to his angel friend. "Did you know he knew about hunters?"

"I knew he knew about demons," the angel answered. "He had come across them before."

"So you know all about witches and demons and werewolves?" Dean asked.

"Well I didn't know about werewolves until you brought it up," Greg said. "I wasn't sure about witches but when Ridgewood mentioned her cousin and becoming a demon well it did stir up some memories."

"When did you come across a demon before?" Dean asked as he leaned forward. He looked eager for the story and it was odd to see Sherlock actually look like he was interested in Greg's past.

"I was at university at the time," Greg said before he swallowed. "It has been a while."

* * *

_London 1983_

"I'm sick of drinking this yellow water," Greg said as he smashed the bottle against the side of the bin instantly shattering it. He had chugged down the third bottle and yet to feel any sign of being pissed.

"Hey now, Greg," Anthony said as he tried to pick up pieces from the broken bottle. "It's all I could afford at the moment."

"You know what the problem is?" Charley asked as he continued to lean against the tree. "Can't trust a ginger to get the good stuff."

"Sod off will ya giraffe?" Anthony asked. He was the second shortest of their group standing at only 1.80 meters while Charley was 1.95.

"This isn't getting us pissed," Greg said. "We need to buy some of the good stuff."

"I'm tired of beer," Charley said as he stood up. "I'm tired of having a piss up every weekend."

"We should do a pub crawl," Anthony said and nodded.

"Pub crawl?" Charley raised an eyebrow. "What has gotten in to ya head? You know you don't have any money, none of us do right now?"

"Then what do you suggest we do?"

"I have some herbs back in me dorm," Charley said. "We could go spark up, rock out to some Sabbath."

"No," Greg said and closed his eyes. "We get caught we will be kicked out. Our futures down the crapper. My dad will beat the shit out of me."

"Don't be a bleeding pussy," Charley snapped.

"I have goals, mate," Greg said. "Having a bit of fun now and then that is good but if we get found out for doing something against the law…" He shook his head.

"Ah fuck. What about you Anthony?"

"Greg's got a point," Anthony said. "We could go chat up Elizabeth and Chrissy."

"Yech," Charley shook his head.

"I know Elizabeth is a bit spotty but what is wrong with Chrissy?" Greg asked.

"Virgin," Charley said and placed his hands behind his head. "Wouldn't know what to do with what I have."

"You mean besides cut it off?" Greg asked and earned a slap from Charley.

"Roger said he was talking with them earlier," Anthony said and he put his hands in his pockets. "Told me they were having Yvonne and Julia come over and they were going to bake biscuits."

"They are?" Greg looked up suddenly interested. Yvonne was one of the most beautiful birds at Uni and Julia had a beautiful body and a reputation as a slapper. Elizabeth and Chrissy were pretty decent but they were better known for their culinary skills. "Why didn't you tell us sooner?"

"I tried," Anthony said as he glared at them. "Only words out of your mouth was beer, beer, and beer."

"Is that where Roger is?" Charley asked and clenched his fists. "That fucker has eaten all the biscuits by now."

"Probably not all he has eaten," Greg said as he took running towards Elizabeth's house.

* * *

"Roger you prat," Greg grumbled when he saw the car that Roger's father had loaned to him in the driveway of Elizabeth's. She still lived with her parents while attending uni and the last he heard they were on holiday.

Of course and just their luck they turned out to be wrong. Another car had pulled up along the side of the street, but it was not a car that any of them recognized.

"How many are invited?," Anthony asked as the three of them walked to the door.

The doors to the car opened and two men jumped out, both were fit and dirty and both were wielding shotguns.

"Christ," Charley gasped.

"Get in the house," Greg shouted as they ran inside. The second they were in they slammed the door shut and locked and bolted it.

"They'll go around he back," Anthony said.

"Warn Roger and the girls," Charley shouted.

"Roger," Greg called out as he ran toward the back door. "Elizabeth, Chris—" He stopped in his tracks when he came across the blood covered bodies of Chrissy and Julia lying in the middle of the floor. He tried to feel for a pulse on each of them and felt nothing before wiping the blood off on his trousers.

"What the bleeding fuck?" Charley asked.

Anthony opened his mouth, only to be cut off by the sound of sobbing and whimpering from the direction of the kitchen.

"Come on," Greg said as was about to take off towards the direction of the kitchen, only to be held back by Anthony. "Let go."

"Don't know what happened," Anthony said. "Can't just go baring in."

"Please don't," the voice belonged to Yvonne. "Why? Why are you doing this?"

"Yvonne," Charley said and ran towards the kitchen. Greg and Anthony followed behind.

Yvonne was in the middle of the kitchen. Her clothes had been removed and she was on her knees. She was bleeding from shallow cuts on her shoulders and forearms. Her face was puffy from crying and there was blood staining her golden locks.

Roger stood in front of her. His clothes had be splattered with blood and he held a blood stained knife. It was horrific looking at little Roger like that, covered in blood and a satisfied smile on his face. The smile alone sent a chill down Greg's spine.

"What the ever loving fuck?" Charley was the first to recover his voice. "What the hell are you doing, mate?"

"Having a bit of fun," Roger said in a cold manner. He stared back at his knife and ran his finger down the blade, collecting some of the blood on his finger tip "I like playing with women. I especially like seeing their insides." His smile grew. "I was wondering when you were going to show." He licked the blood off his finger.

Nobody said a word. The only thing Greg could hear was the sound of his own heart racing, the deep shallow breaths from Anthony and Yvonne sobbing. He watched in horror and revulsion as Roger licked the blade until it was clean.

"Where is Elizabeth?" Charley asked, breaking the cold silence.

"The cunt is hiding somewhere," Roger said. "I'll find her."

"You have gone off your nut," Charley said. "Put down the knife and step away from her."

"Too much talking," Roger said and waved at him.

Charley rose up and flew backwards, landing against a cabinet and crumpling to the floor. He was not moving.

"How the fuck did you do that?" Greg asked. He ran over to Charley and crouched down next to him. His friend was still breathing and still had a pulse.

"Sssstoppp it," Anthony stuttered as he walked to him. "You are not you."

"Anthony," Greg hissed. He heard the sound of the kitchen backdoor being opened. He had nearly forgotten the men with the guns.

"You are right," Roger said as his eyes turned completely black. "I am not me." He held up two fingers and twisted his wrist. Anthony's head jerked to the side and a sickly snap was heard.

"No," Greg cried out.

The door was kicked opened as Anthony's lifeless body crumpled to the floor. The two strange and grubby men raced into the kitchen.

"Hunters," Roger hissed and threw his knife at them. The men dove for the floor.

"Salt," one man shouted.

Greg wasn't certain what the hell he meant but he found the salt shaker on the table and ducked to the floor. He untwisted the top, stood up and threw the container at Roger. As soon as the crystals struck Roger's face there was a sound of meat frying. As instinct Roger grabbed at his face, wiping away the salt and left behind red second degree burns.

"You-" Roger didn't get to finish. One of the men fired his gun at him, sending him flying back and hitting the fridge. There was blood on his chest, but nothing that resembled a bullet wound, at least not like in the cinema. There was also more salt.

The second of the two men had leapt up and was standing over Roger. He balled up his hand into a fist and struck him in the head.

"Chair," the man who shot the gun said and looked at Greg. "Grab a chair."

"Not until I know what is going on?" Greg said. He looked on the floor where Yvonne was. She was curled into a ball and still crying. Anthony was still, eyes opened and glazed. There was no movement at all. His chest wasn't even moving. Charley was still breathing and his eyelids had opened.

"Where is he?" Charley asked as he tried to stand up and winced. He grabbed his shoulder.

"He killed Anthony," Greg explained. "They took him out, but I still don't know what is going on and who they are."

"I'm Maxwell," the older of the two men said. He looked like he was in his early forties and stubbled. "He's Harry." He indicated the younger and thinner man with a goatee.

"Your friend has been possessed by a demon," Harry said as he pointed at Roger. "Maxwell. We need to get this body out and help the girl."

"I'll help her," Greg said. "Charley keep an eye on them."

"What are you doing?" Charley asked as Greg picked up Yvonne and helped her to her feet. "Who are these blokes? What are they talking about with demons."

"You didn't see him kill Anthony," Greg said. "He didn't touch you and you went flying and his eyes turned black. Something aint natural here."

"But possession?" Charley asked. "Are we just going to believe any of this potty talk?"

"He wasn't himself. Roger would never do this, not on his own." He slowly rocked Yvonne back and forth. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Can you walk. I'll take you to Elizabeth's room." They were similar in size and he would be able to find some clothes for her. She wouldn't budge. He was not a weak man and she was not a heavy girl but it did take a good amount of strength for him to lift her into his arms.

* * *

Greg had managed to coax Yvonne into walking on her own when they reached the stairs and he had no idea how he had managed that minor feat. She still leaned against him with her arms wrapped around his chest as they walked upstairs while listening to what had happened.

"I thought he had snapped," Yvonne managed to choke out between sobs. "We were laughing and eating biscuits and then and then he had a knife, cut through Julia's neck. We screamed and ran towards the doors but he pulled us back somehow. Elizabeth was able to break free and she ran upstairs. He killed Chrissy and cut off my clothes."

"Did he force himself on you?" Greg asked in a soft voice.

Yvonne shook her head. "He had just cut me and then you came in."

Greg opened the door to Elizabeth's room and something heavy smashed against his head. Everything became blurred and darkened slightly but he remained conscious. It was a little hard for him to walk around at first.

"Elizabeth!" Yvonne shouted before turning to Greg asking if he was all right.

"Run," Elizabeth cried. She was also a mess with her hair out of place, eyeballs red and puffy and makeup running down her face.

"He's not with him," Yvonne said. "Greg, Charley and Anthony tried to stop him." She closed her eyes and started to cry again. "He killed Anthony."

"No," Elizabeth said and shook her head. "No no no." Her body shook with each sob and braced herself on her the edge of her bed until Yvonne pulled her to an embrace.

"Elizabeh could you give her some of your clothes," Greg said as he tried to ignore the pain in his head and was thankful that Elizabeth wasn't that strong. He looked down and saw the lamp that she had heaved against him. It wasn't broken.

"Oh Greg I'm sorry," Elizabeth said.

"I don't blame you," Greg said. "Roger has been detained. I'm going to check on Charley." He was going to leave it to Yvonne to explain things and after he had gotten some ice for his head.

* * *

When he had returned down stairs he had seen that Harry had placed an ice pack against Charley's shoulder. Roger was tied to a chair and they made some pagan looking circle out of mustard and ketchup on the floor under him.

The symbol was not the most shocking thing. Roger had his head back, mouth open and a long cloud of black smoke was flowing out of his mouth while Maxwell was shouting at him in Latin. It had only lasted a minute and the smoke was only out of Roger and the house, leaving Roger unconscious.

"What's going to happen now?" Charley asked.

"Your friend is going to jail," Maxwell said. "Unless you prove he is insane he will be hanged."

"We were too late," Harry said and shook his head. "Three innocents lost and he is going to have to suffer the consequences."

"We saved three," Maxwell said and nodded to Charley and Greg.

"Four," Greg corrected. "Elizabeth is still alive." He pointed at his head. "Managed to hit me with a lamp, not very hard but it hurts."

"Why did she do that?" Charley asked.

"Don't be an idiot," Greg said as he watched Harry grab another cloth and filled it with ice.

"You two are going to stay with your friends until the authorities arrive," Maxwell instructed. "We were never here."

"And we are just going to let Roger take the blame?" Charley asked. "You said he had a demon inside him. I saw that demon. We all did and now he is gone."

"Most don't understand," Maxwell said. "Go ahead and try to explain it to the authorities and you friends and see will that land you."

"Sorry he's an arse," Harry said. "But we have to go."

"What if it will come back?" Greg asked.

"They usually don't make repeat visits," Harry said.

"But another could," Maxwell said. "There are charms you can wear to keep them out of your body, but this is more effective." He pulled back his sleeve revealing a strange black tattoo. "Harry and I both have one. I suggest you get one too."

"I wanted to forget," Greg said as he placed his hands on his knees. "It is hard to forget something like that, but I wanted to. Good Christ I wanted to." He sighed. "I never thought I would come across something like that again after all those years." He buried his face in his hands and tried to keep from crying, but a few tears still emerged.

* * *

**A/N:** Did something a little different with a flashback and a little background on Lestrade.


	11. Chapter 11

_Chapter 11_

* * *

"What had happened to the girls?" Dean asked once Lestrade had finished the story. He was patient and tried to keep calm while listening to the DI, despite his ever growing headache and anxiety. "To Elizabeth and Yvonne, and what happened to Charley?"

"They went to therapy," Lestrade said as he glanced over to the still sleeping John. "The last time I checked they still had regular visits. They both are married and have jobs. Charley is a businessman. Last I heard he relocated to Vancouver."

"What of Roger?" Dean's fingers were drumming against his thigh. He had started by sitting back in Sherlock's chair but now was upright and rigid. He was feeling irritable along with anxious and he had no idea why.

"Still in an asylum," Lestrade answered with a sigh. "Even though he was innocent the guilt tore into him. It drove him batty."

"Damn," Dean said eyeballed Cas. The angel was still standing next to him. He hadn't spoken at all during the tale, instead he kept staring at John. He had to give his friend credit. Cas said he would watch over John and he hadn't stopped watching. Was he waiting for Dean to give him an order? "I have to apologize on behalf of the hunting profession but that Maxfield was a real douchebag. We're not all that dickish." He wanted to ask another question but the DI was laughing. "What's so funny?"

"Sorry," Lestrade said as he stifled his laugh and held up a hand. "Just hearing those words coming out of his mouth."

"Tell me about it," Dean said. "I have his mouth, his voice, his hair." He ran his fingers through the curls and stopped when they became snagged. It took a few seconds for him to be able to remove them from the mop of dark hair. "I have his calculating superbrain."

"You have his brain?"

"Not the memories or personality, just the squishy gray thinking part. For example I had noticed you had looked over the box of donuts when Cas handed them to you by the slight unevenness of the box lid and the bit of powdered sugar on your thumb. You won't eat them now because you had just recently eaten due to the ticket stub from the restaurant sticking out of your pocket and the small droplet of mustard in the corner of your mouth. Due to the slight wrinkling of your shirt it is the second day in a row that you wore it."

Lestrade just stared at him for a full minute before he said "Christ you weren't kidding."

"I have his gifted deduction skills, his taste for tea. I know I'm an American stereotype but I really don't drink the stuff back home." Dean stood up. He could no longer remain still. "I should ask what else I have of his while I'm stuck here." He walked around and rubbed his head. "I wonder what gifts of mine he is using."

"Dean," Cas spoke up. "You are pacing."

"I know. It's this situation and then there is Crowley and oh yeah the werewolf attack and I can't focus."

"Stop," Lestrade commanded as he stood up. He pulled something out of his pocket and walked to Dean. "Roll up your sleeve."

"Why?" Dean asked but did as he was told. Lestrade opened up the small package and placed what looked like a round peach colored bandage on Dean's arm. "A nicotine patch?"

"You were suffering from withdrawal."

"Oh that's just fan freaking tastic. I'm in the body of a smoker." Dean turned to Cas. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't know," the angel said.

"Why didn't you know?"

"You don't like it when I sniff you."

"That's because it's creepy." Dean turned back to the DI. "Sorry if I'm still irritable but I'm still waiting for this to kick in."

"Sherlock should of told you," Lestrade said. "Do you have any condition he needs to know about?"

"I love me some greasy food, burgers and fries, especially chilli fries, and pie." He closed his eyes and sighed and the memory of the last time he ate. It had been a while and every time he tried to get a slice or even a freaking bite, Sam would find some way to keep him from his fruit filled and flakey crusted treat. "Hmmm I really love pie." A sudden thought hit him. "Does Sherlock like pie?"

"I've seen him eat tarts," Lestrade said with a shrug. "They are like small fruit pies. You do mean fruit pies and not meat pies?"

"I wouldn't mind both actually."

"You had a drinking problem before you went to purgatory, Dean," Castiel reminded hm.

"Thank you, Cas," Dean said in a sarcastic manner. "I did drink more than usual a year ago." He met Lestrade's eye. "I lost two people that were very important to me. One of them did come back and he's here."

"That might be more history than I need to know," Lestrade said. "Unless it's necessary."

"Nope. I am however a bit curious about something. After you got your tattoo what happened to you. I mean besides you becoming like a Detective Inspector."

"Do you mean the world of the supernatural," Lestrade waited for Dean to nod. "Never really come across it again, not in my line of work. If the case became too strange then Sherlock would have solved it and then it was just a regular human murderer."

"Except for this last one," Dean said. "The body in the morgue at the hospital with the chest all gutted." He pointed at his own chest before wagging his fingers out.

"Anderson said it was an animal attack."

"Anderson really? Do you think that dumbass is right."

Letrade rolled his eyes. "Are you certain you don't have his likes and dislikes?"

"Naw that guy just pissed me off and he is wrong. It's a werewolf. Have any bodies with missing hearts showed up recently?"

"Yes." Lestrade's eyes widened. "This is caused by a werewolf? There is an actual werewolf running around London?"

"It could be more than one," Castiel said. He was standing in front of John. "He will wake soon."

"Don't stand over sleeping people like that," Dean ordered. "Give him some room when he wakes. He sees you standing over him like that he might freak out and think he died or something."

"Personal space issues?" Cas asked as he stepped back.

"Yeah." He turned back to Lestrade. "Werewolves are real, but they don't look like the ones in movies and they don't look like real wolves either. They look like normal humans with claws sharp teeth and freaky eyes. Their targets tend to be people who pissed them off or scare them in their normal everyday lives and when they kill the go for the heart."

"Do they eat the heart?"

"Hearts are like Meatybones to them. Someone must have stopped that one before he removed the heart."

"How do we kill them?" Lestrade asked and blinked at the sound of John shuffling around on the couch. "Silver bullets?"

"That part of the lore is actually true."

"Lore," John groaned as he sat back up. "Lore what lore?" He grabbed the side of his head. "I'm already regretting that pissing session."

"You did not lose control of your bladder," Castiel said and Dean was going to have to talk to him about staring at other people's crotches.

"Cas it's slang," Dean told him. "I don't know what for but I'm pretty sure it doesn't mean what you think it does."

"Drunk," John said as he placed his hand over his eyes. "I got drunk. I drank way too much. I should know better after seeing what it did to Harry all the time."

"I didn't know angels were regional," Lestrade said. "Let me get you a glass of water, mate."

"We're not," Cas explained. "If you mean my accent it is the same as my vessel's because angels do not have accents. Our voices are not comprehensible by human ears and most who see our true forms have their eyes burned out."

"Vessel?" Lestrade and John asked at the same time.

"Wait." John lowered his hand and pointed at the DI. "He knows about angels and the one in the flat?"

"He knows about Cas and me," Dean said and softened his tone. He watched as both Lestrade and Cas walked into the kitchen. "I did some shopping while you were asleep. I even picked up something for dinner tonight. I know I'm going to sound like an ignorant American but I picked up a pack of fish and a pack of chips."

"That's bit of a lovely gesture. You certainly are more considerate than Sherlock."

"Don't think of keeping me," Dean said as he walked to the bathroom. "I need to get back to my own body and life as soon as possible." He found a bottle of Tylenol.

"He's a pompous git, waking me up in the middle of the night with his violin, running off while I have a kettle on, stealing my laptop, but I wouldn't trade him in for anyone in the world."

"Here's the water," Lestrade said and handed John a glass. "The angel even purified it."

"The water was not clean," Cas said as he glanced towards the direction of the kitchen sink. "It came from a tap."

"I do appreciate that," John said and took a small sip. He received a couple of pills from Dean and took them with another drink. "Why did you tell him?"

"Tell him what?" Lestrade asked.

"Why did Dean, it is Dean right?" He waited for Dean to nod. "Why did he tell you the truth?"

"Well for starters it wasn't me it was Cas who spilled the beans," Dean said. "And two Lestrade knows about demons because he has an ant-possession tattoo." He spun around to glare at Cas. "You are not telling anyone else unless we tell you."

"If they know and can handle it-" Cas had started but Dean cut him off.

"If you think they can handle it then you ask me first, or Sam when he gets here."

"I just thought that it might make things easier."

"Dude, no what you did was assume and when you do that you make an ass of you and me, mostly out of you." Dean closed his eyes and inhaled. He felt a slight bit of calmness. "Not all humans believe in you and not everyone can deal with you or what Sam and I deal with."

"But,"

"No," Dean said and held up a hand. "Ask us first and don't guess. What if you were wrong?"

"I'm never wrong if I can see the truth in their eyes."

"You still don't know how to think and act like a human that is why you need me."

"Look at that," Lestrade chuckled. "Two of them bicker like a couple."

"We're not together," John said and shook his head. "I mean they are not together. Are you?"

"No," Dean answered and wondered why John had answered the question the first time like that. "Do people think you and Sherlock are an item?"

"All the bloody time."

"Are you?"

"That is none of your business and for the record we are not together."

Dean shook his head. "Not getting us anywhere."

"Might have a werewolf on our hands," Lestrade said. "And he can think like Sherlock."

"I try to keep a filter on," Dean said and pointed at his head. "I'm still learning how to turn it off. At least I know when to turn my mouth off."

"At least you try," John scoffed. His eyebrows raised after a second. "Do you play violin?"

"Never have. The only thing I play is air guitar or air drums."

"Can you try?" Lestrade asked and the look he shared with John meant they were implying something.

"Whoa." Dean held up his hands. "I have never learned how and I have no interest. There is no way that I could."

"I think you might." John held up a finger. "I read about this one case. The man couldn't remember anything. He couldn't remember when he learned to play piano and when asked he was able to play it beautifully."

"I'm not going to do it." He placed his hands on his hips.

"You can be just as stubborn as the real Sherlock," John said. "Why won't you give it a go?"

"He asked me not to touch it." Well it wasn't ask so much as demand but Dean did believe in tact and wanted to prove he had a filter. "I asked him not to touch my car. It's sort of a mutual respect we have."

"Oh," John said and nodded. "If that is true does that mean you won't touch my computer?"

"I won't anymore," Dean said and smiled sheepishly. "I only used yours because I can't figure out the password on his and yours is easy. I've been able to figure Sam's for a while and yours is just as easy, maybe even easier."

"Ah," John nodded. "I see, now don't do it anymore."

"Sorry."

" Don't touch or take anything of mine," Lestrade added and pursed his lips. "I know he's been swiping from me, both my wallet and my patches." He shook his head. "I should get going."

"You want to stay for supper?" John asked.

"It's easy," Dean said and pointed to the kitchen. "You just have to put it in the oven, and there is a frozen pie for a dessert."

"No thank you," Lestrade said. "I'm still a bit full from dinner and the angel did give me these."

"He loves donuts," Cas added.

"Heh. I thought my country cornered the market on the cop and donut stereotype."

"I will let you know if we come across anything," Lestrade said as he stepped into the doorway. "Keep me updated on the situation."

"Tell Anderson he's a moron," Dean said and earned smiles from both John and Lestrade.

"Damn it," John shouted as soon as Lestrade had left. "I need to call back Molly."

"You were on the phone with her when I appeared," Cas said.

"Told me about you," John pointed at him.

"Wait," Dean said and flailed his arms about. "She knows too?"

"She knows because of those books," John said as he dialed. "Books that are based on you because of a prophet." He furrowed his brow and looked over at Cas. "It was a prophet right?"

"The previous prophet," Cas answered.

Dean felt ill. The Supernatural books had made it over to this side of the fandom and spawned its own fandom. If there was a way he and Sam could burn each and last one he could. They were going to have to buy them from each book store and online retailer.

"Are you all right?" Cas asked.

"Now it's my turn to drink," Dean said as he made his way to the kitchen. He pulled out a bottle of beer and removed the cap. "Damn it Chuck, if you weren't dead I'd kill you myself." He took a long swig from the bottle and spat it back out. It was one of the vilest things he had ever tasted.

"Did it go bad?" Cas asked.

"No the date on the box said it was still good." Dean stared at the bottle. Maybe he should have purchased an American import. "When Sam and I were in Scotland we tried this brand and liked it."

"You have a different mouth."

"Son of a bitch," Dean grumbled and handed the bottle to the angel. He had to get his own body back.

* * *

A/N: Next chapter will have Sherlock and Sam in London


	12. Chapter 12

_Chapter 12:_

It was around midnight when Sherlock and Sam stepped off their plane at Heathrow. It took nearly two hours to fly from Kentucky to LaGuardia and they had to wait until nearly four in the afternoon before their flight to London. Sherlock had taken a couple other short naps on both flights but he let Sam sleep longer on the transatlantic flight.

When they didn't sleep they talked. That was such an exchange of information between the two and Sherlock wasn't bored from conversation. He had found out so much about the hunting world. There were many different types of monsters and each had different ways to kill them. He found out angels could be banished by placing a hand on a sigil painted in blood and be kept out by painting different sigils. Then there were the leviathans and even Sherlock felt uncomfortable about those creatures and was a bit thankful that most of them congregated in the states.

As fascinating it was to learn about the life of Dean Winchester, Sherlock did not want to live it. He wouldn't mind tracking down and hunting a vampire or a ghost, but he wanted to do that in his native country. He also would rather do that in his own body. Dean was physically fit but the food he craved and enjoyed made him feel uncomfortable. They had walked past a place that made hamburgers and once the scent had wafted into his nostrils Sherlock felt Dean's stomach growl. He had a double bacon cheeseburger with extra onions and a large order of chips and they were the most delicious food he had tasted. He was surprised about that since hamburgers were just average to them.

"How late do the cabs run here?" Sam asked once they had reached baggage claim.

"They are always running," Sherlock answered. "We will be able to take one to the flat." They were silent until the belt started and luggage emerged.

"We should talk about sleeping arrangements," Sam said. "I don't know how many beds there are."

"Two beds and one couch. I believe you brothers might share a bed and I would sleep on the couch."

"Ha."

"You have a problem with sleeping with your brother?" He recognized one of the bags that belonged to Dean and grabbed it.

"I don't but he does. It was okay when we were younger but around when I turned fifteen or sixteen he would either sleep on the floor or take a couch if there was one, unless dad just went off on a separate hunt."

"He let you have the bed?"

"He always let me have the better half," Sam said with a smile. "Sometimes dad would just tell me to share a bed with him so Dean could have one, or asked Dean to share with him." He grabbed two more. "Last one is yours."

"It will take us nearly an hour to get to my flat," Sherlock said as he grabbed his.

"Once we get a ride we should call them." Sam said as she stretched out his arms. He was still a little stiff from the ride. "Dean gave me the text saying that your friend knows."

"I do not want to cause Mrs. Hudson a fright," Sherlock said. Mrs. Hudson was used to him entering and leaving the building at all hours during the day and night. Sometimes he woke her and even then she nodded at him without a word. She would not be expecting two strange men from America to enter, especially after the last time strange American's had come by.

Sherlock decided to let Sam sleep a little more during the cab ride. He read the street signs out of the window and recognized the obvious landmarks and knew how much longer it would be before they reached their destination. He waited until they were approximately 18 minutes away before he called John. He sent a text to him first and just as he figured John ignored it. He sent two more until he dialed.

"Do you have any idea what time it is?" John asked. He had been sleeping.

"John, it's me. We will be at the flat shortly."

"Who is this?"

"John, don't be an idiot."

"Sherlock?" John asked after nearly two minutes of silence.

"We are almost home. We need you to let us in without waking Mrs. Hudson." His request was met with more silence. "John?"

"Sorry, it's just odd for me hearing you sound like that."

"You have spent the day with Dean Winchester inside my body. I have thought you would be more used to the situation at hand, but clearly I once again overestimated you."

"Piss off, Sherlock."

"Now that is the John that I know," Sherlock said with a smile. "Now are you going to let us in?"

"I'll be there."

"Thank you, John."

* * *

As the cab slowed down to park outside of 221 Baker Street Sherlock nudged Sam awake and reached for his wallet, thankful they did exchange some American bank notes for pounds.

"This is the place?" Sam mumbled in a half groggy tone.

"My home," Sherlock said softly. He could feel himself smiling by just looking at it. He could see the windows to both his and John's rooms. He handed the driver the right amount before he stepped out and helped Sam with the bags.

"Is anyone going to be up?" Sam asked as he followed after him.

"I already called John," Sherlock answered. He reached for the door and was about to grab the handle when it opened.

John looked exhausted. His hair was disheveled, face full of stubble, eyes were bloodshot and there were noticeable gray bags under them. He had also been drinking their whiskey and he dressed in a hurry due to the shirt being on backwards and the trousers he had just picked up off the floor.

"Hello John," Sherlock greeted. His friend seemed even shorter than usual.

"Sherlock Holmes is that you?" John asked as he looked him over.

"I thought we had established that over the phone. This is Sa-" He didn't finish before he was pulled into an embrace.

"Welcome home," John said. His smile faded. "You egotistical prat. You should have waited for me, or for Lestrade. Look at the mess you have gotten yourself into this time."

"And have the witch elude us?" Sherlock asked. "Come now, John. You know me better than that." He heard Sam cough behind him. "John Watson I like to introduce you to Sam Winchester. Sam this is John."

"Hi," Sam said and held out his hand.

"Nice to meet you," John said and accepted the handshake. "Your brother has told me a lot about you."

"It might be better to talk and stuff in the morning," Sam said. "I think we both are kind of tired."

"I couldn't agree more," John said. "Let me help you with your luggage."

"Where is Dean?" Sam asked. The look on his face and tone of voice he was hurt that his brother hadn't accompanied John down to the foyer.

"Taking one of his doctor prescribed periodical naps," John said. "He had just drifted off when you called, Sherlock."

"I hope he is taking care of my body," Sherlock said as he ascended the stairs.

Everything looked perfectly the same when they entered the flat. His books and violin were untouched. His chair had been sat in and the remote was not in the same location as last time. He wondered what kind of crap telly Dean was into, but realized it couldn't be any worse than the shows that he enjoyed watching.

He examined the kitchen. Most of his scientific equipment was untouched, save to probably move it to make room for something in the kitchen. This samples he had taken from various bodies from St Bart's were still in the fridge along with more milk and a carton of Tropicana. Somebody had done some shopping recently. He wasn't sure if it was Mrs. Hudson or John. The milk was he brand that Mrs. Hudson always bought for them and John was the only one to buy orange juice.

He looked up when he heard a yawn from the direction of his bedroom. It was his yawn. Sherlock had thought he would be prepared to see himself walk out of the room, but he had only deluded himself into thinking that.

Dean walked out of the room smacking his lips and blinking. He yawned again and scratched his bottom. He was wearing clothes, albeit only a pair of Sherlock's pants and his bathrobe. It was similar to looking to a reflection that had a life of its own.

Dean paused before he stepped into the living room and stared at him. Dean blinked and rubbed at his chin feeling a near lack of any whiskers. Sherlock had taken his slow growing facial hair for granted as he scratched his chin and knew he was going to have to shave soon. Dean was also looking him up and down, it was almost as if he was making a deduction in the same way Sherlock always had when he met someone new.

"Hello Dean." He finally said as he stared at himself. His hair was a wild mess of curls. Dean was obviously not used to managing such a style. He never took a long enough look to see how lanky he was or how flat his feet were.

"Sherlock," Dean said before his eyes widened. "Sammy?"

"I'm in here," Sam said from the living room. "Dean?"

"Sam it's me," Dean raced out of the room and into Sam's arms. "Sammy."

"Dean." Sam hugged back before taking a step away to give his brother a good look. "You're still shorter than me."

"Everybody is shorter than you, Gigantor."

"Yeah I'd just thought…" He looked up at Sherlock. "I thought you were taller."

"The pictures lie," Sherlock said. He stared at John who had his arms folded and glared back at him as to tell him do not dare to call him short. He pressed his hands together.

"I look really weird doing that," Dean said. He had his hands on his hips, shoulders relaxed and legs apart and almost bowed.

"I can assure you the feeling is mutual," Sherlock said to him. "Stop slouching and stand up tall."

"You are one to talk about standing around properly," John said.

"John you are still in your own body. You do not have to see someone strut around in your flesh."

"Uh guys?" Sam asked. "Could we not do this, not at this hour?"

"He does have a valid point," John agreed. "Perhaps we should try to get some sleep. Except for you two exchange students."

"Was that a pun?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow at his friend.

"It was a bit of a joke, yeah." John shrugged.

"I guess I'm a bit of an influence on him," Dean said as he folded his arms together and grinned.

"A bad influence," Sam said.

"Shut up, people love me."

"Your brother has been a decent guest," John said as he scratched his head. "I guess that is the right way of saying it."

"Didn't have his music blaring?" Sam asked. "Or ask you to play his type of music on the radio or something?"

"I did play something from a local station on my laptop," John answered. "And it was quite an interesting experience to hear Sherlock sing Eighteen and Life."

"My singing to such music had to have been dull to view," Sherlock said. He glanced back at Dean and tried to imagine him singing such a song, possible mimic the guitarist as well.

"No way man," Dean said with a smile. "You have a great singing voice. I had to pause at first because, wow."

"Dean if you are going to just stand there could you put on a pair of pajama bottoms or something?" Sam asked. "No offense Sherlock but I do not want to see you in your underwear."

"You see what I have to live with?" Dean asked as he looked at John. "And I'm also wearing a bathrobe."

"I am tired boys," John said and yawned. "I am certain Sam is also tired. I'm not sure about the angel. Where is he?"

"Right here." The voice of the angel said. He was standing in the entrance of the kitchen and staring at them.

"Cas?" Sam asked and pointed at him. "How long have you been here?"

"Since he first arrived," Dean answered. "He's been paranoid ever since I told him I ran into Crowley."

"You too?" Sam asked.

"He mentioned he gave you a visit," Dean said and held up a finger. "He said he just wanted to see me like this but he is up to something. I had a little trouble concentrating earlier." He rolled up his sleeve revealing the nicotine patch. "Oh and by the way screw you, Sherlock, for not telling me earlier."

"My nicotine addiction," Sherlock said in an amused tone. "I knew there was the possibility. I just had to experiment."

"Now you see what I have to live with," John said.

Sherlock decided to ignore him. "Dean has my craving for cigarettes and I have your appetite for disgusting and unhealthy cheap food."

"Oh check out Mr. La de da over there. He doesn't like beer. You know what that means? It means I hate the taste of beer now."

"Really?" Sam asked. He was trying to hold back his laughter. "You?"

"Don't start." Dean pointed at him.

"So this is what they are like together?" John asked.

"It is painfully obvious that we are complete opposites," Sherlock said as he sat down in his chair. "I am clearly the most intelligent person in this room." He ignored the eye rolling from John. "I enjoy wine. I play the violin and reading." He pointed at Dean. "You clearly are a moron. You have disgusting habits and you think you are God's gift to women."

"Yeah? Yeah well…you had a cheeseburger for lunch with extra onions. During the flight you drank three cups of coffee, each with a pack of sugar even though I usually don't put sugar in my coffee. You also sucked on breath mints during the flight, most likely during takeoff and landing. You also had at least one glass of ginger ale and you were bored enough to purchase headphones."

"I am aware you are blessed with my brain as of now. I would like to have it back."

"You and me both," Dean said and looked at the angel. "Cas put us back."

"I have to see first," Castiel said. "It would be better if you were both on the couch."

Sherlock moved out of his chair and sat down on the sofa while Dean sat down next to him. The angel paced in front of them, constantly staring at them. He grabbed Dean by the chin, lifted his face up and stared deeply into his eyes before he did the same with Sherlock. Staring into the blue eyes of Castiel Sherlock could see his own face, his true face and not the one of Dean Winchester.

After several minutes the angel stepped back away from them and shook his head.

"Why are you shaking your head?" Dean asked. "Cas don't do that. Don't do that Cas."

"I'm sorry, Dean, but I cannot place your souls back."

"What?" All four mortal men asked at the same time.

"Cas you have to fix this," Sam said.

"He repaired my phone and cleaned up a mess with just a lift of his finger," John said. "He healed me. He disappeared and brought donuts for Lestrade at least that is what they told me."

"Don't tell me this is permanent," Dean's voice rose in anger and fear.

"It's not," Cas said. "At least I don't think it is."

Sherlock felt his spirits lift slightly.

"Why can't you put their souls back?" Sam asked.

"It is the way they are set," Cas said. "If I tried and made a mistake there would be no telling what would happen." He turned to Sam. "I'm not going to risk that again, not after what happened to you."

"What happened to him?" John asked and pointed at Sam. "You did this before."

"Sam made a brave sacrifice for the world," Sherlock said as he recounted everything Sam had told him. "He was able to take control when Lucifer was in his body and threw both of them into hell. Castiel tried to bring back Sam, but he brought him back soulless."

"I had to take on the role of death to get Sammy back," Dean said. He held up his hands. "So Cas what you are trying to say is that you try to yank our souls and memories and personality out and switch em we might end up being mixed up even more, or we might end up being brain damaged or crazy?"

"Or dead," Cas said and looked down.

"There are other ways," Sherlock said. "There are the goblets themselves."

"Yeah." Dean jumped up and snapped his fingers. "The goblet with the shield and the gem in that house. It was on the this book case."

"There is an identical goblet at the house where we found Catherine Ridgewood," Sherlock added. "Both are needed for us able to switch back. Castiel you were at the house before when we defeated Alyssa Montgomery."

"It was on the second floor," Dean added. "Master bedroom."

"I will be right back," Cas said and disappeared.

"When he returns we will give him the address of the house we were at," John said. "I hope this works."

"So do I," Dean and Sherlock said at the same time.

Castiel reappeared a second later looking forlorn. He did not have a goblet on him.

"It's not there."


	13. Chapter 13

_Chapter 13_

"Gone?" Sam was the first one to ask. "Gone how could it be gone?" He tried to think of who else was there in Kentucky. Certainly none of the local teens went back there not after the murder and the fact that Cas had iced the newly formed demon. The place was probably still crawling with cops and entrance blocked off by police tape. Wait that was it. The cops probably gave the place a thorough combing and put the items in evidence.

"Have you tried to look in the evidence room of the police department," Sherlock said. He had come to the same conclusion as Sam probably a few seconds faster.

"I have looked there as well," Castiel said in a dejected tone and stared at the floor. "It wasn't there."

"Are you certain you looked long enough?" John asked. The man looked like he was about to drop any minute. Sam wondered how long he slept before Sherlock woke him up with his call.

"It wouldn't hurt to look at the old Critchlowe place," John brought up. He looked as exhausted as Sam felt and wanted to get back to bed, but were more important matters at hand first. "That was where we found Catharine Ridgewood and the other goblet."

"That would be a pointless trip, mate," the low gravel like voice was like ice sliding down Sam's spine.

"Crowley," Sam snarled the name at the same time as Dean and both he and Sherlock leapt to their feet. Sam was the closest to the demon and ran to tackle him, half wishing he had Ruby's knife in his hand and not still in the suitcase. It was one that was checked and not taken through the metal detector. They could always get handguns and rifles once they were in London, Sherlock assured him of that, but there was no other knife that could kill a demon. Sam was grateful that his suitcase wasn't subject to a random check.

"Not that bright are you?" Crowley asked once Sam hit something that felt smooth and hard.

"Force fields?" Dean asked. "When did you get so high tech and scifi?"

"Nothing about this is Scifi," Crowley said and held up his finger to an approaching Castiel. The angel had the same look on his face that Dean had when he was about to punch someone. "All pure magic." He closed his eyes and smiled. "And Castiel, old chum I don't think you will be laying a finger on me either." He unbuttoned his jacket and spread it revealing the enochian symbols on the inner lining and on his vest. "You see I took all of the extra precautions."

"Is this…" John paused to lick his lips. "This is a demon isn't it?"

"You're a sharp one aren't ya, hedgehog?" Crowley asked. "I'm not just any scrounging for someone to make miserable demon. You have the honor of looking at the king of Hell."

"The king of Hell?" John repeated before his voice rose in pitch. "You happen to be the king of Hell?"

"Not much to look at," Sherlock said.

"I am deeply wounded Dean—I mean Sherlock," Crowley said. "Except for the fact that I'm not."

"I thought he would have a crown," John said. "And horns and a tail and of course be at least as tall as Sam, if not taller."

"If you can view him the same was as I can," Castiel started. He was pacing around the border of the shield. "You would be vomiting on the floor."

"Cas, what a thing to say," Crowley said as he turned to face the angel. "After all we been through together. You did inform the new guys that we used to work together?"

Castiel's eyes became illuminated, washing over the room with bright light. The only shadows were in the form of his wings. He struck the shield with his fist and was thrown back.

"Not even a completely charged angel can touch me," Crowley said in a smug tone.

"What the hell do you want you son of a bitch?" Dean asked. His fists were clenched and face set to a snarl.

"You very well know what I want," Crowley said. "Figured now that you have a brain that works you would know that."

"You should know that since we know what you want we will not give it to you," Sherlock said. He was glancing the demon up and down, trying to read him, trying to find a chip in the armor.

"I knew you would say that so I brought these along." He reached behind him and pulled out two pewter goblets that were exactly the same. They both had the same shield shape in the center and both had the same Latin, but the only difference was that one had a red gem and another had a blue gem.

"I knew it," Dean growled. "I knew you were planning on something."

"I plan on telling you a story."

"We are not in the mood for your rendition of Reading Rainbow," Sam told him. He glanced around the living room, trying to find something that could break through the barrier. His eye caught the sight of the pokers near the fireplace.

"I think you will like this one," Crowley said and didn't wait for anyone's approval before he took a breath. "Once upon a time in Rome there was a princess who was in love with a stable boy and the stable boy loved the princess but as you may have guessed from this generic tale the king would not allow them to be together." He closed his eyes and placed his hand on his heart. "So tragic. Meanwhile there was this serving girl who was in love with a soldier, a young warrior who was brave and smart and climbed the ranks, of course their statuses would not allow them to be together."

"Where is this going?" Dean asked.

"Please don't interrupt, Sherlock-I mean Dean." Crowley's response was met with Dean's fist striking the barrier with a loud bang and Dean pulling away and cradling his fist. "Did you really think you would accomplish anything with that?"

"Do not do that again," Sherlock said. "I rather you not break any of my fingers."

"Now where were we?" Crowley asked and furrowed his brow in a mock thinking expression. "Ah yes serving girl and the soldier. Well the serving girl was the princess's serving girl. Both prayed to Venus or Aphrodite if you prefer the Greek version, but they prayed and she gave them these." He held up the goblets. "They waited until the full moon and stood in front of them and made their wish."

"They switched bodies," John said, voicing what everyone was thinking.

"I can see why you are the assistant to the world's greatest detective," Crowley said.

"I'm not really just an assistant," John protested.

"Ut Restituo Pro A Melior Vita," Crowley read from one of the goblets. "To Replace for a Better Life." He lowered his arm and nodded at them. "These were also used during the burning times, the actual ones and not what these neo pagan blessed wannabes claim. A witch would have a relative hold one up in front of a pious person, especially an accuser and the witch would switch with them."

"This is a onetime deal?" Dean asked in a worried tone, not he or anyone had noticed that Sam had scooted himself closer to the pokers.

"No there were a few cases where they did switch back." The demon tossed one of the goblets in the air and caught it. "Now here is the funny part. This is only activated when two things occur. The first is a full moon and the second is one person wishes they could be someone else."

Sam grabbed the poker and struck it at Crowley, only for it to bounce off the force field and sending Sam to fall on his backside.

"Why did you try that?" John asked and pointed at Dean. "You saw what it had done to your brother."

"I thought this was iron," Sam said as he stood back up. He turned towards John and Sherlock. "This isn't pure iron."

"Of course it's pure iron," John said and turned to Sherlock. "Isn't it?"

"It is," Sherlock said in a drained tone. "I would have made the same attempt, John. Demons are extremely weak against pure iron." He gave Dean a look. "Why haven't you told him?"

"Get off my back," Dean answered. He was still cradling his fist.

"Shouldn't it be get off your back?" Crowley asked. His smile was larger than before. "One of you or both of you wanted a different life. Dean you never told me you wanted to be British."

"Blow me, Crowley."

"You might like that," Crowley said and raised his eyebrows in a manner that made Sam want to take a cold shower. "Now what kind of life would you want that the fine consulting detective had?" He held out his arms and looked around the room. "Let's see there is a job that pays well when you get clients. You have a sweet set up here, a bit of fame and a job that is pretty much normal. You got tired of the hunt, tired of saving the world."

"Dean," Sam said slowly and sadly as he met his brother's eyes. "You were thinking of getting out again?"

"It crossed my mind," Dean answered. "Don't tell me you don't think about it. How many times have you left? Maybe I wasn't thinking of it for me, Sam. Maybe I was hoping for one of us, especially you now that you have Amelia."

"And what would Zero Pigment want?" Crowley said as he pointed to Sherlock. "Why the hell would you want their lives?" That was a good question.

"Oh for Christ's sake, Sherlock," John said in an exasperated tone. "Were you really that bored and tired with tracking down human criminals?"

"I was wishing for similar cases to the one we had just solved," Sherlock half muttered. "Yes."

"But it was still daylight for us," Sam said.

"The moon was still full," Dean reminded him. "He didn't say by the light of the full moon, just the fact that it was full."

"Well boys it looks like you got what you wanted." The demon held up the goblets again. "But if you do want to reverse the gift."

"You believe that we are willing to give you both the prophet and the tablet in exchange for the goblets," Sherlock said. "If you think that Dean and I would be that selfish to put our comfort and happiness over the fate of the world then you are a bigger moron than I took you for."

"Yeah, what he said," Dean added.

"Well then," Crowley said with a shrug. "Happy hunting, Sherlock and happy consulting, Dean." He gave a small wave with his hand and disappeared.

Silence had gripped the room along with the coolness if the room. Castiel glared at the spot that Crowley stood in for a few seconds before he looked up at them, anger instantly over washed with sympathy. Dean had collapsed into one of the chairs, even with those cold silver eyes they reflected the despair he had when he knew he was going to hell and no one could do anything about it. Sherlock was expressionless. His hands were folded against each other. John went through a mix of emotions from confusion to grief.

"No," Sam said and approached his brother. "We will find another way."

"Your brother is correct," Sherlock said. "It is too early to give up."

"But that demon has the goblets," John said and pointed towards the spot that Crowley was standing in a few minutes earlier. "Is that the only way?"

"There are other spells," Sam told him. "Other books and items that we can use and we just can't give up. Castiel please say I'm right."

"There are other possibilities," Castiel agreed. "I am not aware of what they are."

"Well that is just perfect," John grumbled and sat down in the other chair. "The angel doesn't know. What good is he?"

"Shut up," Dean snapped.

"Don't talk to him like that," Sherlock scolded.

"I will not. Cas told me that something like this might happen that you and I are going to be stuck like this forever." He closed his eyes and ran his fingers through his hair. "I guess I could go back with Sam and help him. It would still be the same with the two of us, except I'll just look like this and sound like this."

"Ridiculous," Sherlock said.

"Why?" Dean asked, although Sam could tell by the expression that he knew why.

"Must I spell it out for you?" The detective asked.

"It won't work because you have connections here," Dean sighed. "Because you are famous here and you are in the newspapers and on the web. I can't go around saying I'm with the health department, or I'm a reporter, or a federal agent. There would be the chance that someone would recognize me, granted that might be to an advantage but people would ask questions to why am I traveling across Forty Eight states solving their strange crimes." He paused to take a breath. "Not all fifty because I hate flying and we rarely find any cases in Alaska."

"And people here would wonder who I was," Sherlock mused. "They would question who this strange American and why he was trying to solve crimes in England. I could use an alias, pretend I was with the FBI but that wouldn't work would it Sam?"

"Not with the records we have," Sam agreed as remembered the times they were arrested, even though they were undercover in one case. "It might when you first start out but they are going to look you up and this is smaller territory than we usually cover."

"Wait just wait," John stirred. He was slowly drifting back to sleep. "You both have records?"

"Shape shifters and leviathans mostly," Dean answered. "But it is true." He buried his face in his hands. "I don't want to be away from you, Sammy. I just got back not long ago. I can't be away from you again."

"Got back?" John asked.

"Dean was trapped in P-"Sam started

"Purgatory," John said as he nodded. "That's right. Dean and Castiel told me that much. Told me it was worse than the horrors I have lived through in Afghanistan."

"Don't give up," Sam said as he placed a hand on his brother's shoulder. "We will look around even if we have to look through every book in every bookstore in the world. We'll search the net and Cas will help."

"I will look around to see what I can find," Cas said. "I don't feel it is safe to leave you alone unprotected."

"Sherlock and I know how to fight," John said.

"He is referring to demon possession," Sherlock informed his friend.

"We'll get the charms," Sam said. "There has to be a magic store or some other shop that sells these types of things."

"We are getting the tattoos."

"We are?" John asked.

"Sam has told me it is the best form of protection against the demons from entering the body," Sherlock answered. He stared at Dean. I think it would look good here." He placed a finger on Dean's chest.

"Hey," Dean said.

"Perhaps on my back or my thigh," Sherlock pressed a finger against Dean's leg.

"Dude, stop touching yourself, at least while I'm still inside."

"You wanted to make that joke," Sherlock said in an annoyed tone as he stepped back.

"Maybe." Dean shrugged. "Or maybe I just don't want you touching me. Has anyone ever told you about personal space?"

"I gave up on that," John said with a yawn.

"Dean, knock of your usual crap," Sam said. "Sherlock could you not provoke him? We need to look up places that sell charms and tattoo parlors in addition to finding away to put you two back."

"Sherly and I will look," Dean suggested. "The two of us can't sleep that long right?" He turned towards John.

"He is right," John said. "It would be better if Sam and I tried to grab some sleep."

"Sam, you can take my—er is it okay if…"

"He can have my bed," Sherlock interrupted. "You and I will take turns resting in small doses while we look up what we need to find."

"Where is his bed?" Sam asked.

"Through the kitchen," both Dean and Sherlock answered at the same time.

"You two have got to stop doing that," Sam said. He opened up one of his bags and pulled out a pair of pajama pants and his small leather bag used for toiletries. It was a bad habit and he knew it but he was too damn tired to think of brushing his teeth right now. That would and could wait until the morning. "Good night."

"Night, Sammy."

"I'll see you all in the morning," John said as he walked off to what seemed to be the entrance.

Sam wasn't expecting anything from Sherlock after the day he spent with the detective or Castiel who he was gracious for staying and watching over them while they slept. He would grab some sleep now, some food in the morning and then they would discuss what they were going to do next. He hoped and prayed that they would find the solution. He didn't want to leave London without his brother, even if he knew that in the back of his mind that Dean had gotten what he had wanted.

* * *

A/N: Thank you for the recent faves an follows.


	14. Chapter 14

_Chapter 14_

* * *

John had thought that despite how knackered he felt the previous evening sleep would elude him. He had a lot on his mind. There was the possibility that his friend and flatmate would move to America and assist in hunting strange creatures with Sam Winchester while Sam's brother took up residence in 221 B and work as a consulting detective. He thought of that demon with the shield. He was the one in charge of hell, had everything worked out and was the one who held onto the goblets. There was also the subject of an angel that had some limits to what he can do.

Despite all of that laying on his mind he had drifted off to sleep within minutes of his head touching the pillow. His dreams were devoid of nightmares. He did dream of Anthea in a slinky red dress and high heels attending a concert of someone playing the violin. The dream had ended with the suggestion of breakfast.

It was the scent of breakfast food that woke him up. John rolled over and saw that it was almost nine in the morning. He dragged himself out of bed, showered and slipped into a new set of clothes before he made his descent down the stairs.

Sherlock and Dean were seated at the small table in the middle of the living room, both with newspapers in their hands and both had a plate with hotcakes, eggs and bacon and each had their own mug of coffee. Dean had the mug that Sherlock preferred while Sherlock had one of the few mugs they had in case of guests. There were also a bowl of berries and a small bowl of clotted cream between them.

"Morning, John," Mrs. Hudson's voice rang out as she entered the room with a pot of coffee and John's favorite mug in her hand. She set it down at the table and poured him a cup. "I don't mind having guests but I wish you had informed me earlier."

"Sorry about that," John said as he sat down.

"Dude uncool," the word's came out of Sherlock…or rather Dean's mouth. Did they switch back? He wasn't certain if he had heard right. He needed a cup of coffee.

"It did not seem worth mentioning," Sherlock said. Those were his words and coming out of his lips.

"They arrived pretty late," John explained. "Their visit is a bit of a surprise for us and we didn't want to bother you in the middle of the night."

"It's fine," Mrs. Hudson said as she set a similar plate down in front of John.

"Where are the other two?" Mrs. Hudson asked. "I saw the one wearing an overcoat earlier."

"He seemed upset I believe," Sherlock said and took a dainty sip from his cup and for some reason he held his pinky out.

"Upset?" Dean asked. "Come on dude and be a human being. He found out how his brother died so chill out."

Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes. "He informed us he would only take a minute." He sat back and tilted back his head until his nose was in the air like a stereotypical snob.

"Still uncool man."

"Is Sam still asleep?" John asked and leaned back in his chair to stare into the kitchen.

"Sammy? Naw bro wakes early for sit ups he wants to be an awesome beefcake, but that aint no use since he don't hunt for chicks." Dean used the fork and stabbed one of the eggs before shoving the entire thing his mouth before drinking a long gulp from his mug and belching.

There was a loud stomp under the table that caused it to shake. Sherlock had his teeth clenched and shooting daggers at Dean.

"Oh sorry dudes," Dean said as he licked his teeth. "Excuse me."

"Mr. Winchester your table manners are at most inexistent and deplorable," Sherlock said in a low growl. " I am so disgusted with you that I can't even think. You will apologize to everyone in here, especially to Mrs. Hudson."

"Don't worry about it, dear," Mrs. Hudson said as she gave Sherlock a gentle pat on his shoulder. "This poor boy is adjusting to the time zone. They don't feed them right on jet flights." She straightened her back and turned to the kitchen only gasping and stepping back when she saw Sam Winchester standing there.

"Morning," Sam greeted as he stepped into the room. "What's going on?"

"Breakfast bro," Dean said and motioned at the table. "Mrs. H here is one hell of a cook."

"Thank you for the compliment," Mrs. Hudson said and turned back to Sam. "You must be Dean's big brother." Her smile faded at the chuckle that came from Sam and the amused snort from Dean. Sherlock had blinked and mouthed a "what".

"I'm the younger brother," Sam said.

"Oh sorry I just guessed that since you were the taller one you were the older one," Mrs. Hudson said.

"Mrs. Hudson please leave the deduction business to me," Sherlock said.

"Yeah Sammy is like a total baby compared to me," Dean added.

"Are you feeling all right?" Sam asked as he looked up.

Once John had caught the gaze of Sam he nodded to Sherlock and then at Dean before mouthing. "They switched back."

"Really?" Sam asked before he sat down. "You didn't have to go through all that trouble, Mrs. Hudson."

"No trouble at all," Mrs. Hudson said. She filled up another mug for Sam and set a plate down for him. "Now let me know when your other friend returns and I'll bring him some food. I have a few things to take care of down stairs first."

As soon as she left Sherlock gave Dean a kick under the table causing everything to rattle.

"What was that for?" Dean asked.

"I do not talk like that," Sherlock said his accent shifting towards more of an American one. "Every other word out of my mouth is not dude. I also don't shove food down in one bite and I don't belch out loud."

"Excuse me," John said as he caught on and looked at them. "Have you two switched back or not."

"We haven't switched, John," Dean—no it was Sherlock had said. "We were only pretending to be each other less Mrs. Hudson becomes suspicious and as for you Dean I do not hold my fifth finger out like that when I drink my coffee or tea. I also do not sit back like an upper class twit."

"Dean you do shove food down your mouth," Sam said as he put a spoon of sugar into his cup.

"Sherlock you are from an upper class family and sometimes you are a twit," John informed him.

"I don't eat a whole egg in one bite," Dean said as he cut his egg in quarters. He had already seasoned it with salt and pepper. He took one section on a fork and ate it along with a bite of hotcakes.

"He's right," Sam told Sherlock. "He doesn't, but that is a good idea with trying to learn how to be each other at least for now."

"There is a possibility we have to be each other forever," Sherlock said and brought up the newspaper to cover his face. "We have yet to uncover anything that proved to be useful in our investigation on the matter."

"You found nothing?" John asked as he stared at Sherlock only to have David Cameron stare back at him from the front page.

"I did look up some of our contacts back home," Dean said as soon as he had swallowed what he was chewing. "Found some names of witches and mediums we knew. I even contacted that Gary kid in Massachusetts, Sam. The one that switched with you back when the apocalypse was happening."

"Apocalypse," John repeated the word. Dean had told him about how he, Sam, Castiel and their father figure were able to stop it from happening. It was hard to think about how he was in a hospital room, recovering from the shell blast to his shoulder when Armageddon was about to happen half the world away and these boys stopped it.

"Did you neglect to tell John?" Sherlock asked as he lowered the newspaper until only his jade green eyes appeared over the edge.

"He told me," John said and took a sip from his cup. "Told me everything I needed to know. It's just the whole idea that we were close to such disaster and we lived. Sherlock we and the rest of the world are alive and it's thanks to these two boys."

"We are not that younger than you," Dean said. "And I'm older than Sherly here by a couple of years."

"Do not call me Sherly."

"This is what we are doing?" Sam asked. "Just sit around and make up names and wait."

"We are doing more than that, Sammy," Dean said and used his fork to pick up the last of his bacon. "We are having a nice breakfast."

"Do you understand how severe this is?" Sam's voice was growing. "Do you really want to spend the rest of your life in this body? Are you tired of being with me? Is this really what you want?"

"Just chill, Sam," Dean said. "Better yet drink your coffee. I don't want to deal with you when you are acting like this right now." There was another amused snort from Sherlock and a uncomfortable cough from John.

"Why don't you just answer?" Sam asked.

"I don't want to be Sherlock if that is what you are asking. I did think about leaving the life, but how many Hunters have never entertained that thought? I'm not tired of you. Did you know what my main goal was, what drove me the most to get out of purgatory and trust me it wasn't those uglies with the fangs and claws it was you. I had a feeling you would be lost and I missed you Sam. Cas and I missed you and I will miss you again. I'll miss Kevin and Benny, even though you don't give a crap about him. I'll even miss Garth and that damn sock of his."

John had been half listening to the drama. He had been through similar spats with Harry and he was sure that even Sherlock similar fights with Mycroft. He noticed that his flatmate was still buried behind the damn paper and not because the argument had upset him but because in all likeliness he found it to be boring.

"So what are we going to do?" Sam asked before he took a bite from his breakfast.

"Keep on looking," Dean answered. "We look, we wait for our contacts to reach us and we wait for Cas, and if possible think of a way to trick Crowley for the goblets."

"Remember we only have until the next full moon, Dean," Sherlock said without even lowering the paper.

"Until the next full moon?" John asked as he stared at the print. "When were you going to tell me all this?"

"I just did and Mrs. Hudson is returning."

"How did you know?" John asked.

"The sound of her shoes striking the floor," Dean answered. "It has a distinct sound. There is also a jingle from her keys which is getting louder as I speak."

"Boys," Mrs. Hudson called out as she entered the room. "Has the other one returned yet?"

"He's still kinda depressed," Sherlock said. He had the newspaper folded and placed across his lap and his hands behind his head. "This was one very yummy breakfast Mrs. H."

"I am glad you like it, dear." Mrs. Hudson smiled and turned to Sam. "Are you enjoying it?"

"It's delicious, thanks," Sam said before he took another bite.

"I hope you enjoy your stay in London. Where in America are you from exactly?"

"All over," Sherlock answered. "Dad was in the army and we moved around a lot."

"We originally were born in Kansas," Sam said. "And we have a nice cabin in Montana."

"Are you two the outdoors type?"

"Chopping wood feels, good man," Sherlock said before taking another large bite.

"We both work outside but we also travel a lot," Sam told her. "We also solve cases."

"You both are detectives?" Mrs. Hudson said and there was that aha look in her eyes, as if she made a connection between the two brothers and Sherlock.

"They are private investigators," Dean said. He was now the one who had a newspaper covering his face. "They specialize in the strange and unusual. They go after cases that seem to involve something otherworldly or the supernatural if you will, but each case ends with a simple explanation or a few tricks from either murderer or thief, or in some cases both."

"Like that cartoon," John said and held up a finger. "Scooby doo."

"But without the costumes," Sam added.

"Or hot red head chicks," Sherlock said with a grin.

"That does sound quite exciting," Mrs Hudson said and took away Dean's empty plate. "Does anyone need a refill?"

"Mrs Hudson, we are fine," Sam said. "And I thought you were the landlady."

"Oh I am." She shook her head. "You see, Sherlock? Your guests understand better than you do."

Dean said nothing. The only sounds were chewing and gulping and a soft sigh from Mrs Hudson before she left.

"That was well done," John said. "It almost did seem like you both were your old selves again. That was also a good cover story, Dean."

"Sammy and I pride on our cover stories," Dean said as he tossed the paper aside. "So you think we can have everyone fooled?"

"Everyone but Molly and Greg," John said.

"They know?" Sherlock asked. "How did they know?"

"Molly has read these Supernatural books," John said heard a sickened groan from Sam. "Castiel told Greg."

"He also has an anti-possession tattoo on his leg," Dean said. "Molly knows who we are. She doesn't know that I'm wearing the guy she has a crush on and vice versa."

"I knew he had something," Sherlock said. "He's always trying to hide it and cover it up." His smiled faded. "We do not tell anyone else."

"Mycroft?" John suggested.

"Especially him. This is the last thing I want him to know."

"I have to tell him something," John told him. "He knows something is up. Yesterday morning he noticed Dean wasn't you. I had convinced him it might be a form of amnesia, but I have no idea if he bought it or how long he will believe it.

"He's your brother," Dean said slowly. "If we can't reverse it he should have the right to know."

"He will figure it out," Sherlock said and sighed. "He always figures it out."

"Molly knows about us and Cas—and Sam you look constipated," Dean said.

"How did that fandom get over here?" Sam asked as he buried his head in his hands.

"The Internet," Dean sighed. "All of the books are there, including the ones that didn't get published. That's how Cas found out about Gabe. He read about the part after we left with Kali."

"Gabe?" John blinked. "You don't mean Gabriel."

Dean nodded. "Gabe called Lucifer a bag of dicks, said he loved humanity tried to trick him…and was stabbed in the back." He sighed again. "Guess he was a good guy after all."

"Damn," Sam said and shook his head.

"Can't destroy those books," Dean said. "Don't know if we are ever going to get back our bodies." He sat up. "Sam lets go out."

"What?" Sam and John asked at the same time.

"I thought you were going to do more research," John said and looked over to Sherlock who had his nose in the bleeding paper again.

"You and Sherly can start," Dean said as he stood up. "Sam and I, well we are our tourists and we want to look around your beautiful city."

"Seriously?" Sam asked.

"Come on, Sam. If it is a lost cause I don't want to spend it reading books. I want to look around, visit Big Ben and the Tower Bridge. I want to see the Crown Jewels and go to the Natural History Museum."

"Why that one?"

"It has dinosaurs."

"It's not really fair to them," Sam said as he pointed at John and Sherlock.

"Go on," Sherlock said without dropping the paper.

"You don't care if they go?" John asked his friend.

"I will have an easier time of looking for what we need if I am alone."

"You want me to play tour guide?"

"You have to be at work in an hour, doctor," Sherlock reminded him. "It is Tuesday."

"Shit," John said and checked his watch. He did have to be at work in an hour. He had promised to lead a group of students around. "Sorry men. You two enjoy your tour. I'll see you both this evening." He dashed back up to his room. He still had to brush his teeth, put on deodorant and cologne and shave before catching the tube.


	15. Chapter 15

_Chapter 15_

Dean was certain he was going to get an earful from Sam as soon as they lad left the apartment. They stopped to say goodbye to Mrs. Hudson and tell here they would be off. The sweet old lady was surprised until Dean assured her it was because Sam suggested it. Sam had agreed and that was the last time his brother said anything. He didn't talk about trying to reverse the spell or Crowley, or Kevin. It meant that he was sulking and Dean wasn't in the mood for Sam's attitude.

"When was the last time we did something like this?" Dean asked after they sat down in the subway. "Anytime we visited any kind of museum it was because it was part of a case. When was the last time we did this for fun?"

Sam said nothing. He was just staring at the other passengers and reading the signs. His lips were pressed together, eyes without expression and nostrils were not flaring.

"Sammy," Dean hissed out his name. "Do not do this to me. I am taking this serious if that is why you are pissed. I am also thinking about the alternative and that means I won't be with you and this is why I want to spend time with you."

Sam's shoulders went slack as he closed his eyes. He took a deep breath and sighed.

"I know, Dean, I know. I guess I am in denial about it and I don't want to think about it." A smile spread across his face. "Dinosaurs?"

"Yeah everybody loves dinosaurs" He gave his brother a pat on shoulder.

As soon as they had gotten off at their stop Dean noticed the way some people were looking at him. They were nudging each other, whispering and pointing at him. So this is what it felt like being famous. He had donned a crisp white shirt and black suit jacket along with matching pants before he left and put on the dark trench coat. He had left behind the scarf and the hat and thought they were just for when the detective was working.

"I told you he was popular," Sam said from behind.

"I wouldn't say popular as more along the lines of well known." Dean just wanted to spend some time with his brother. He didn't want to answer any questions or pose for pictures.

As soon as they had entered the museum Dean honed on where the prehistoric creatures were and started from the oldest first. He saw strange sea creatures including giant sea scorpions, trilobites, shellfish, creatures that looked like bug mutations and things that actually resembled fish.

"I did go to one museum like this," Sam said as he followed Dean.

"When was this?" Dean said and paused in front of the remains of what was once a large prehistoric shark. "We are going to need a bigger boat."

"I was eleven," Sam said. "Dad was hunting after a shape shifter and the school I was at had planned a field trip."

"Yeah and I had to forge his name for your permission slip." Dean smiled at the memory. "And you had fun." He had hoped that once that Sam would agree that he had fun and not disagree and bring up any bullying or an anecdote about him getting sick on the bus, not because he was tired of that, but he just wanted Sam to have a happy childhood memory.

"I did. I had some extra money that you gave me and I bought this little triceratops."

"I gave you crap for that. 'Sammy why did you get a dumb plant eater? T-rexes rule.'"

"I thought Triceratops were the best at the time." He shrugged. "I still think they are pretty awesome."

"I wonder if there is a T-rex here." His smile grew and he motioned Sam to follow him towards a different colored section of the museum.

* * *

"The only time we went on a field trip together was when that whole school went to the Cleveland garden," Dean said they walked along and looked at the other exhibits. "I was in the fifth grade and you were in first." He remembered how boring it was but Sam wanted him to come with him on the trip. They were only at the school for a few weeks and Sam didn't know too many kids and not too familiar with the teachers. The only reason he wanted to go in the first place because he wanted to see some carnivorous plants.

"That was a good time," Sam said as followed after his brother.

The exhibits that Dean wanted to see were separate by different colored areas. He wanted to explore chronologically and they walked around as they moved through the periods. There were more fish and insects and then they came across the remains of the earliest amphibians as well as sculptures and drawings.

"Diplocalus," Sam said as the stopped in front of an amphibian with a boomerang shaped skull. "I think this was my favorite of prehistoric amphibians."

"You had a favorite?" Dean just gave him a look. "Who the hell has a favorite prehistoric amphibian?" He continued until he came across the reptiles and stopped at a creature he recognized. "Hello dimetrodon."

"That wasn't a dinosaur, Dean."

"I know." He folded his arms as he tried to study it. "What was it?"

"A type of prehistoric reptile," Sam answered. "I forgot what it was called but this group that it belonged to eventually evolved into mammals."

"All of them?"

"All of them."

"So what you are saying this is our ancestor?" Dean asked as he pointed at the creature.

"In a way yeah."

Dean shook his head and kept walking. His smile grew when they entered the Mesozoic and walked past the first dinosaurs, pausing to examine the remains and read information. When they passed from Triassic to Jurassic Dean had to shout. "Time Tunnel, Time Tunnel ahead."

"Dean?"

"What are you talking about, Sam? I'm quoting Dinosaur Train."

"What the hell is that?"

"It's a kids education show," Dean said knowing how stupid and ridiculous it sounded that he was watching something that was meant for preschoolers. "They even show dinosaurs most people never heard of. Ever hear of Therizinosaurus."

"Actually, no."

"They have claws like Wolverine," Dean said and walked straight up to the remains of another dinosaur. "Three of them on each hand they were about three feet long. Who wouldn't be fascinated by that?"

"Okay whatever."

Dean shook his head. They saw the remains of the more well-known species and some not so well known and he found his T-Rex. He placed his hands on the rail as he stared at the bones and its gaping maw. The skeleton was both frightening and phenomenal at the same time. Dean wondered what it was like to be a nine year old child and looking at the dinosaur. The only word that had escaped his lips was "awesome."

"I'm pretty sure that one museum were at didn't have these," Sam said when they came across some dinosaur animatronics.

"Remember that case we worked in Paterson, New Jersey?" Dean asked as he continued to watch the movements of the dinosaurs while trying to ignore the logical part of Sherlock's brain that was explaining how it was done. "The one that started there at the chem lab in the university."

"With the ghost that was possessing mannequins and dolls?" Sam asked. "Yeah I remember."

"Yeah good thing none of them ever tried one of these, or the bones. That would be a pain in the ass to handle."

"It would give me nightmares."

Dean stepped back and noticed someone in the corner of his eye. There were other people there of course but he knew he had seen this particular person before. He turned his head just so as not to reveal his face. The other man was that tool, Anderson. Dean could recognize that hair cut anywhere.

"Something wrong?" Sam whispered.

"See that guy?" Dean said and pointed at Anderson with his thumb. "He's part of the forensics team with Scotland Yard."

"And?"

"And he is a dick. He's giving Sherly problems, probably just jealous of this." He tapped his head.

"No. Whatever it is you are planning no. I see that smile, Dean and even on his body I know you are going to do something childish."

"I am borrowing his body I should do something for him and I'm going to go screw with this guy." He ignored Sam's protests and strolled right up to Anderson. "Hello Anderson, trying to find a date?"

"What?" Anderson nearly jumped out his skin. His lip curled when he saw who it was. "What the bloody hell are you doing here?"

"Free admission," Dean said as he spread his arms. "You know you won't get anywhere doing an autopsy on this one." He pointed at the animatronic. "It was never alive."

"You think you can strut around our cases that is one thing," Anderson said. "But you are not going to be acting like you own the place here."

"I do not strut. I investigate." Dean pressed the tips of his fingers together and studied the dweeb. "You are not alone. There is a hint of women's perfume coming from your hand meaning you were holding her hand. I see have a long blond hair on your right shoulder and slight dusting of blush that had rubbed off on your collar when she kissed you."

"My wife," Anderson answered in a defensive tone. Who the hell would want to marry this guy?

"Ah yes," Dean said when he noticed the ring on the Anderson's finger. "She must be quite the rare and special creature to come with you to this. You do know the way to show a lady an excellent time."

"Don't you even dare," Anderson said as he poked Dean in the chest.

"Don't you even dare think about touching me," Dean said as he grabbed his finger.

"Syl who are you talking to?" A fairly attractive woman approached them. She did have long blond hair and was wearing blush and perfume. She also recently had a manicure, walked with a slight limp and had a purse that cost nearly two hundred dollars or rather one hundred pounds.

"This is him," Anderson snarled.

"Him?" the woman asked and took a good look at Dean. "Oh the great consulting detective. have you come to be a bother to my poor husband before he goes into work?"

"I do not engage in childish or dull games." He could almost hear Sam's eyes rolling in the back of his head. "And you should know the truth and the truth of the matter is I am only assisting Lestrade, saving people, hunting criminals, the Holmes business." He definitely heard the slap of a hand meeting a forehead behind him. "And the others well they are so mean to me. All I do is help out the best I can and it's like school all over again with the other kids picking on the smart one."

"No it's not." Anderson stepped in between them. "He acts like he is better than everyone else, insults me, thinks everyone is an idiot and talks about how much he enjoys the case and how he enjoys looking at dead things. I was at his flat once and he human remains in his fridge and microwave."

"It is only a defense act. I guess old wounds never heal and as for the human remains they are used in experiments that I conduct on the behalf of others. It also helps pay the rent."

"Syl you do say some rather not nice things about him at home."

"He's not a nice person," Anderson said. "You are not taking his side. You can ask the others."

"Ah yes your little group of fellow bullies."

"He's lying. We do not bully him. He was rude to us first."

"And yet you refrain from being the adult."

"I held my tongue the longest," Anderson said as he got into Dean's face and glared into his eyes.

"Enough," Sam said and grabbed him by the shoulder. "Let's go."

"What is this, you collecting Americans now?" Anderson asked.

"Another friend with the FBI," Dean answered. "Your so called animal attack happens to have something in common with a scientific mistake."

"Come on Sherlock," Sam said as he dragged him away. "Let's go look at the prehistoric mammals and then at the space exhibit."

"Oh good maybe he will learn about the nine planets or how the moon controls the tides or finally learn that the sun goes around the moon."

"You see what I deal with?" Dean asked in the most pathetic whiny tone he could muster.

"Believe me I am sorry," Sam told them. "And for the record it's eight planets now."

Dean got one last look of Anderson as he tried to explain himself to his wife before he followed after Sam, nearly skipping in his steps.

"Seriously?" Sam asked once they reached the prehistoric horses and paused. "Did you not care about his reputation with that?"

"I care," Dean said and placed his hands in his pockets. "I did him a favor." The idea of a sputtering Anderson complaining about Sherlock and his act with the rest of the forensics team and other member of the police force was a lovely image. He wasn't sure if Greg would take the nerd seriously or not and if so he would know it was Dean and not Sherlock.

"I still can't believe you did that."

Dean couldn't stop laughing until the thought about the space exhibit. "What was that about with all those simple space facts?"

"I don't follow."

"He's saying Sherlock didn't know all that?" He shrugged. "Naw he was being a dick and if not then hey I know something the genius detective doesn't know."

"First you want to do a favor for the guy and then you want to hold something over him."

"Dude, lighten up. That is why we are on this tour."

"I am and I am having fun." Sam placed an arm around his shoulders. "This was a pretty good idea after all."

"You see? Do you think we should get a souvenir for vampy and Johnny? Maybe some dinosaur figures or maybe a working model of the solar system." He chuckled, and almost regretted it when Sam removed his arm. "Okay that was the last time."

"Really?"

"Can't make any promises but I'll try." He walked along the exhibits. "After the museum what do you want to look at?"

"Since this is all your idea I'll let you choose."

"We could always go to the bridge."

"London Bridge?"

"If that is the Tower Bridge or the one built in the 70's then yeah. We already saw Old London Bridge when we worked that case in Lake Havasu City, or when dad and I worked it."

"When was this?" Sam asked.

"May 1995," Dean reminded him. "There was this ghost who died from a drunk driver. Every time someone walked that bridge and was drunk ended up getting ganked by the ghost."

"Still can't believe they moved the bridge to Arizona."

"People have done stranger things," Dean said and placed his arm around his brother's shoulders this time. "Come on." They continued their tour, talking about old cases and not thinking about Crowley or the goblets.

* * *

**A/N:** I wanted the brothers to have a little fun and relax.

There are two London Bridges. The old one was shipped brick by brick and rebuilt in Arizona.

Gatiss had said Anderson's first name was Sylvia, but he was probably pulling our legs. Syl can be short for Sylvester as well.


	16. Chapter 16

_Chapter 16_

Sherlock had agreed to look up information on witches and spell books while the others were gone. He would take refuge in the silence of the flat and hoped for no interruption and barely got his wish. Mrs. Hudson had come back once, hoping to find Castiel and give him a meal but was informed he was still not around.

"Are you alone right now?" Mrs. Hudson asked. There was a slight upset tone in her voice it was not in the form of annoyance or exasperation it was more on the line of pity.

"Just me," Sherlock said trying to sound as chipper as possible while mimicking an American accent. Due to the fact the brothers had moved around all their life they did not have a real discernible one aside from the Standard American TV accent.

"I saw Sherlock go off with your brother, something about the Natural History Museum. Did you not want to go with them?"

"I'm still adjusting," Sherlock answered. "I uh have some research to do and Sammy really wanted to go. He loves all that science and nature stuff." He shrugged. "I can always go later but this really needs to be done."

"Well if you need anything, dear."

"I'll keep that in mind," Sherlock answered.

"I'll be downstairs." She smiled once more at him before leaving.

Sherlock let out a sigh of relief when she was gone, pretending to be Dean was taxing, but now that she was gone he was free to be himself and he could get on with the research. He would have to borrow John's computer and try to figure out Dean's e-mail password. That shouldn't prove to be too difficult.

To his consternation there were no replies at all. He had checked the time on the computer and it was half past eleven. It was six thirty in the morning on the eastern side of the United states and three thirty in the morning on the Pacific side.

"Damn," Sherlock muttered. He would have to check again later but first he had to look. He decided to type in words and phrases that the average person would not have thought of when looking for body switching spells and objects. He had come across some books and charms that claim to be able to do the same as the goblets but when he searched for their availability they were either nowhere to be found or sold out.

He needed something to help him think, to help him relax. He wanted a cigarette, but only wanted one and did not crave it. He also didn't know where John had hid them, or if Dean had found them and decided to move them. The only other thing that would work at a time like this was his violin.

Dean was true to his word and hadn't laid a finger on Sherlock's violin and had even told him that Lestrade and John wanted him to try to play to see if it was ingrained to the actual brain itself or to the memories.

Sherlock had a little trouble playing the previous evening. He had to adjust the bow in his hand and work on remembering the notes for each song. He was also curious and told Dean it was all right if he had tried. Dean started with a few gentle finger plucks and sounded a chord before he used the bow. There were a few mistakes but was able to play a few chords on his own. He even tried the bow and played a few bars of the same music he had plucked.

The only thing that held Sherlock back from playing his violin was the fact that Mrs. Hudson had sharp ears and that idea evaporated from Sherlock's mind in a second. Mrs. Hudson did not know that Dean didn't play.

Sherlock plucked at the strings, making sure it was still finely tuned after letting Dean have a go at it before he drew his bow. The music was soothing and he relaxed him, letting his thoughts take control and run wild with possibilities. There were a few seconds when he had to strain to remember the notes before he pulled out a book full of sheet music. The music ended almost as fast as it had started when he realized all he had to do was to just give these people a call.

"Hello?" A groggy young male voice reached Sherlock's ears first.

"Hello Gary, right?" Sherlock asked.

"Who is this?"

"Dean Winchester," Sherlock answered.

"Ah shit what do you want? I haven't touched that black magic in years."

"This is kind of an emergency but do you have any magic spells or books on switching bodies?" He heard a groan followed by an amused snort.

"You shitting me? Am I being punked right now."

"This is serious."

"Someone switch with Sam again?"

"Actually no," Sherlock said as he dropped the accent and attitude. "The real Dean Winchester and I were the ones who switched and it was purely by accident, however the stake of the matter is that the objects that were used are being held by an enemy who refuses to hand them over unless we give him what he wants first."

"That is so not Dean," Gary said after he let out a low whistle. "Who are you?"

"That is not important. What matters to us is trying to find a way to reverse this."

"I understand but I don't have that book anymore. Sam told me to get rid of it and I burned it."

"Ah," Sherlock said.

"Hey man I'm sorry. If I'd have known I would of kept it. I don't even look up real witches or go to websites that deal with the occult anymore. I'm mostly focused with my studies here at M.I.T."

"No don't apologize."

"I understand why you called and I can look around for you."

"You are in Uni and should focus on your studies." He hung up only half listening to Gary tell whoever he was with that Dean had switched with some British dude.

The following calls were just as fruitless. Everyone had apologized and promised to help look. The only person that Sherlock hadn't called himself was Kevin and only because he had his mind on more important matters.

Exhausted he set the alarm on his phone and went to sleep.

* * *

"Hellooo," Mrs. Hudson voice roused him from dreamless sleep.

"Mrs. Hudson?" Sherlock asked wearily.

"I'm sorry if you were napping, but Sherlock's brother is here. I told Mycroft he's out but he insists on waiting."

"Oh good lord," Sherlock groaned softly. That was the last thing he needed. He braced himself.

Mycroft waltzed in with one of his familiar umbrellas as if he owned the world and sat down in John's chair and stared at him with an eyebrow cocked. He was reading the physical form of Dean Winchester and making what is most likely an accurate deduction.

"Hey," Sherlock greeted.

"Hello," Mycroft answered in a short and tense voice. "Forgive me if I seem rude but what are you doing here?"

"Didn't Mrs. H explain?" Sherlock asked. "We are friends of John and we came for a visit."

"I find that hard to believe," Mycroft said.

"You find it hard to believe that John has friends?" He was met with a derisive snort.

"My brother is not well. I know John would not allow visitors, especially visitors from another country to visit during Sherlock's current condition."

"We had made arrangements and bought tickets."

"If you had made arrangements you would have also booked a hotel room," Mycroft said as he walked over to him. "Now tell me why you are here." He pointed the end of his umbrella at Sherlock.

"Damn this brain," Sherlock cursed. If he was in his own body he would have a better excuse for Mycroft. "Set the umbrella down, Mycroft. I know this one only contains a tranquilizer dart."

"How do you know?" Mycroft asked. He did not lower the umbrella.

"I might as well get this out. I am your brother. I had accidentally switched bodies with a man named Dean Winchester and I know you wouldn't believe me." He coughed into his wrist. "You had a meeting with a high ranking judge today due to the chocolate cake crumb in the corner of your collar. You only cheat on your diet with chocolate cake when you are meeting with a judge." He stared into Mycroft's eyes.

Mycroft only blinked once. His expression was impassive and lowered the silver tip of his umbrella, the very tip that was laced with the tranquilizer for a second before he brought it up and placed it against Sherlock's throat.

"That was quite a guess."

"I do not make guesses, Mycroft. When I was six I asked our parents to build me a pirate ship in the back yard and you complained about how your friends would perceive it. When I was twelve I corrected every mistake on every paper you wrote for your classes at university. You once went through a phase where you wore polka dot ties." He stared into the eyes of Mycroft only to see pure confusion. "It was I who slipped the little bit of sodium penthol in your tea when you were twenty one to see if you would confess to mother about the missing Lady Baltimore cake she had the cook prepare for her garden party."

"Sherlock," Castiel appeared in the room.

Mycroft's confusion grew as he jumped back and aimed his umbrella at the angel. He pressed back at the hidden switch in the handle and a dart shot out of the end and into Castiel's leg.

"Foolish Mycroft," Sherlock said as Castiel just looked down at where the dart was located.

"I wasn't aware you wouldn't be alone," Castiel said as he pulled the dart out. "I'm sorry Mycroft Holmes but this has no effect on me."

"What is this?" Mycroft asked.

"Mycroft this is Castiel an actual angel," Sherlock said. He was actually enjoying how uncomfortable Mycroft was at the situation.

"This is not possible," Mycroft said as he rubbed his head.

"Everything is possible brother dear." Sherlock stressed on the brother dear in his most insincere voice.

"Only Sherlock would speak to me like that," Mycroft said weakly. He grew stern a second later. "That was you who slipped in the truth serum? Why am I not surprised."

"I'll brew you cup of tea, but this will just have a spoon of sugar and a bit of cream," Sherlock said as he turned to the angel. "You have quite the timing. Are you feeling better?" He still had no idea where the angel had run off too.

"I was only sad for a few minutes," Cas said as he followed Sherlock into the kitchen. "He died as a hero." The angel did look haggard. His coat was wrinkled and beaten, tie was about fall off and hair was even more disheveled.

"Where were you?" Sherlock filled the kettle with water and placed it on the stove.

"I was looking for a solution." His face was filled with the expression of defeat.

"You were not able to find anything?"

"I have, but every time I went to retrieve a book or a pendant, or scroll it was taken either by thievery or an actual purpose."

"By who?" Sherlock asked and knew a second later. "Crowley. He knew we would be looking for another solution."

"He sent his soldiers to search all over the planet," Castiel said. "I was able to burn out many demons, but they had already given him what he wanted. I'm sorry."

"You did…you did everything you could." Sherlock said. He was going to have to learn how to hunt. He had to spend time with Dean to study him and perfect the act so he could keep others fooled and Dean would have to do the same to him. There would be more violin lessons.

There would be preparations for his travel back to the states. He wondered what he would take that was his. He thought about the clothes, but Dean would need them. He could just take a few favorite shirts and his pants. He was going to take all of his pants. He wouldn't be able to bring all of his books with him, but he planned on taking some, as well as several photos. His chemistry set would have to stay behind. He would call Dean and ask him to perform the experiments for him.

He would bring his violin. He'd buy Dean his own before he would leave it behind and knowing the hunter he would give it a ridiculous name and carve his initials in it or something. The moron would carve D.W though.

"Should we tell the others?" Castiel asked after a few minutes.

"No John is busy and Dean and Sam are enjoying themselves. We will wait until they return home."

"What about Mycroft?"

"We will wait until everyone returns home."

"There is beer in the fridge."

"I don't drink beer." He shuddered at the thought of the last time his tongue came into contact with the liquid.

"Dean likes beer. When he feels like this he would drink one."

"And what Dean likes I will like," Sherlock said. "Fine."

"Here," Castiel said and handed him the bottle.

"Thank you." He took note that the angel had opened it for him. He took one long sip and it tasted good. He was surprised by the flavor. He had to know all of Dean's favorites and dislikes when it came to food and of course what he was allergic to.

"When did you start drinking beer?" Mycroft asked softly. From the way he was sitting Sherlock could tell he was in deep though.

"Not my body," Sherlock explained as sat down in front of Sam's suitcase and went through his clothes. He unwrapped a strange knife with odd symbols on the blade. He looked around and found an old leather bound book.

The book was exactly what he wanted. It was a diary of some sort. It started out with mention of a funeral for a woman named Mary, their mother. There were different short entries about coming up with nothing until the entry about Missouri. There was another date gap that lasted five months and a long entry about dealing with a ghost, finding where the bones were buried and salting and burning them. He flipped through the pages reading about the different kinds of monsters and how to kill them, only pausing to take a sip from the bottle of beer. He was curious about the coordinates that were left and he wondered who H.W. was, most likely another Winchester.

"Now that is the brother I know," Mycroft said.

"Fascinating," Sherlock said once he had read the entire thing. He carefully closed the book and tied it back up before he took another drink, finishing off the bottle. "This would be useful."

"Jesus Christ, Sam would you eat a Snickers already?" Sherlock could hear his own voice shouting down the stairs. "I'm getting damn tired of you being a wet sandwich."

"All I'm saying is that maybe you should wait until we get back to the apartment," Sam said in an exasperated tone as both he and Dean returned.

"I just wanted to spend some time with you," Dean said as he stuck his finger in Sam's face. "But you have to question everything I do. First you get on my ass this morning and then you get on my case at the museum and then on the subway to meet with John and-"

"You were trying to look down some woman's cleavage," Sam said and held up his hands.

"You know what? Maybe I want to stay like this. Maybe I want to get away from you, at least John doesn't give me the same kind of crap." He paused and finally noticed them and did a double take when he saw Mycroft. Sherlock could almost hear the "Oh crap." In his head. Dean swallowed. "Hello Mycroft."

"What present did I give you for your seventh birthday?" Mycroft asked. His mouth had almost dropped during the conversation between Sam and Dean.

"A Nintendo system?" Dean answered.

"Tickets to see the Pirates of Penzance at the Savoy Theater," Sherlock answered. "You know it is me, Mycroft."

"I hope you are working on returning Sherlock to his body," Mycroft said in a stern matter. "I have enough trouble with him when he is his usual self."

"We are working on it," Dean said.

"Where is John?" Sherlock asked looked past the boys at John who was holding a couple of bags from their favorite Chinese Take Away. His friend looked like a father who had to spend all day with his quarreling sons.

"He called us," Sam explained. "Around the time he got off. We were not too far from where he was working and asked if we were in the mood for Chinese."

"I didn't know you can get take out here," Dean chuckled until he received a glare from everyone. "Okay but I bet I can't find Tex-mex here."

"We do," John told him and set the bag down on the table.

"You did see the Taco Bell that we walked past," Sam reminded him.

"It's not the same," Dean said and took out one of the boxes. "Not like the ones you can get in Texas or in Arizona, New Mexico, Nevada and California."

"That would be closer to authentic then yes," John said. "Work was fine. It leaned towards the mundane and routine."

"Dull," Sherlock replied. "That is why I never ask."

"My brother has swapped bodies with an American idiot," Mycroft sighed.

"Hey," Dean protested.

"How did this happen?"

"Enchanted objects," Sam answered before he grabbed his food. "If we knew you were here we would have gotten you something."

"I appreciate the offer," Mycroft said. He smiled when Castiel walked into the room with a cup of tea. "Thank you, angel."

"Damn it, Cas, what did I say?" Dean asked.

"I didn't know he would be here when I returned," Cas said as he stared at the ground.

"I told him the rest," Sherlock said. "He would have found out sooner or later. He always does."

"Here you go," Dean said and plopped down a box in front of Sherlock. "General Tso my favorite."

"My favorite now," Sherlock sighed. "Did you tell him I prefer the shrimp in lobster sauce?"

"I did," John said and sat down in front of the table. Sam grabbed a box and sat down with him.

"What the heck are you doing with that?" Dean asked as he pointed at the closed book near Sherlock's feet. "That is ours!"

"You went through my bag," Sam gasped. "I can't believe you went through my bag."

"I needed to know," Sherlock said as he looked into Sam's eyes. He couldn't look in his own face. Was he really that frightening when he was angry?

"Know what?" Dean snapped.

"How to hunt. I believe you truly did get what you want. We cannot switch back."


	17. Chapter 17

_Chapter 17_

It only took a few seconds for Dean to recover from the sting of the words and looked down at the table where he had dropped his chopsticks. He didn't know he had dropped them or when he dropped them. He could not believe what he had just heard.

"We can't just give up," Sam said. Both he and Dean had forgotten the little detail about Sherlock snooping through Sam's bag and taking out their father's journal.

"Are you certain?" John asked. He was staring at Castiel.

"I traveled across the planet," Castiel explained. "I was looking for similar items and books that would contain a spell that would return you to your bodies."

"And you found nothing?" Dean asked and picked up his chopsticks. "We just have to keep looking."

"It's not that simple," Cas continued. "Whenever I was positive there was something we needed it was gone and where it was located on shelves or in safes there was traces of sulfur."

"Demons," Sam said and smacked his head. "He was one step ahead of us. Crowley sent his goons to steal everything that could undo this."

"Son of a bitch!" Dean grabbed the edges of the table so hard that his fingernails dug into the wood grain as he stood up. He needed to kick something and stomped over to the couch. "Freaking Crowley." He kicked the couch as hard as he could. "We should have burned his bones when we had the chance, but no we had to be the bigger people." He spun around and faced Sam who had his hands on his hips.

"What do you mean?" Mycroft asked as he set his cup down and stood up. "Sherlock how long have you known?"

"Since Castiel told me while I prepared your tea," Sherlock answered.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I felt it would be best if we were all here and deliver the news at the same time," Sherlock delivered in an angry tone before he sighed. "I did not want it to be this way."

"This is it then," John said softly. He walked over to where Sherlock was sitting on the floor and sat down next to him before he gave his shoulder a small pat.

Dean felt the strong arms of his brother grab him and held him close. He was going to hug Sam every day before he got on the plane back to the states. He was going to give Cas a few hugs as well. The poor guy felt like it was his fault that he wasn't able to get to the items in time. He was also going to give Sherlock a hug or two. The guy was going to have to live his life and be out of his element at first.

"This is why I had your book," Sherlock said softly. "I have to learn everything about these monsters. Sam, you told me so much already, but I need to know everything. I yearn for the right information."

Sam said nothing for a full minute before he moved his lips. "I understand, just don't go through my stuff."

"Good luck with that one," John said. "He's always going through my drawers, taking my wallet and mobile, using my computer."

"Looks like some things will be the same," Sam said. "He always asks me to do the research-"

"Because you're good at it," Dean interrupted.

"Always interrupting me," Sam continued. "We have to eat at the places he wants to eat at, always plays his music. He thinks he's funny and half the time he veers off track to flirt with some girl he meets at a bar."

"Well, John, he has something in common with you," Sherlock said and earned a weak smile from John.

"Sam, you like to be boring," Dean started. "You wake me when you start your exercise routine, eat rabbit food, stink up the car with your gas."

"Are we really going to go there?" Sam asked

"How about you never bring me any pie, or when I'm just about to have a slice you tend to block me from getting any. When you do bring me a dessert you bring me cake."

"It's practically the same."

"Is it?" Dean asked and looked around the room. After the others shook their heads. He pointed at the group. "There you see."

"You are such a jerk."

"Bitch." The insult was barely out of his mouth before Sam wrapped his arms around him and held him close. Dean hugged him back.

They were quiet for a few more minutes. Sherlock had set the journal on the coffee table and gave his hands a good look, rubbing the finger tips together. He ran his fingers through his hair and stroked his chin before glancing down at himself.

Dean did the same. He stared at his pale hands and long fingers, giving each one a stroke before wrapped one the dark curls on his head around one. He stepped away from Sam and over to the mirror when he got a good long look at himself.

"I'm not bad looking," Dean said. "And I sound like this. I could have ended in someone really fugly, or a geezer, or I could have ended up as a chick. I'm not saying being a woman is bad. I'd just never leave the bathroom."

"Dean…" Sam had started. Dean knew it was working. John and Sherlock's expressions had also lightened.

"I am going to have to get another tattoo," Dean continued. "And John I suggest you do the same, you too, Microsoft."

"It's Mycroft and I am going to learn to live with you as my brother."

"It would be a great precaution," John said in agreement. "The tattoo that is."

"Molly will learn the truth," Dean said. "I don't want to deceive her, especially since I want to be friends with her and eventually asking her out."

"She should know," Sherlock said as he stood back up. "She has always been there, always willing to help." There was a bit of regret in his voice.

"I don't hear any complaints on your end," Dean said.

"Or any compliments," Sam reminded him.

"This body is very suitable," Sherlock said as he took his place in front of the mirror. "It is physically fit and also not bad looking. With enough time I can train this brain to be logical and deducting."

"You are finding a bright side?" Castiel asked.

"I do not understand what this Crowley was trying to accomplish," Sherlock said. "He should know what we would not sacrifice someone like a prophet to him, nor would either one of us give up. Dean will still be a consulting detective and I will hunt."

"I don't turn my back on people who need us," Dean agreed. "No matter what I look like." He turned to Mycroft. "Guess it's my turn to be the little brother. I'll pretend to be Sherlock when I'm out in public and when visiting family."

"They would appreciate it if you visited every now and then," Mycroft said. "Although if you actually visit they would know something is off."

"Just tell them you found some way to convince me," Sherlock said.

"That would be for the best," Mycroft sighed and finished the rest of his tea. "I will be in contact with you all." He picked up his umbrella and retrieved the dart from Castiel before he left the apartment

"You think you are up for the challenge, Sherlock?" John asked as soon as Mycroft had left. "Do you think you might be able to save the world?"

"Someone has to," Sherlock said. "Crowley is a moron."

"Singing our tune," Dean said. He walked back to the table and sat down. "Let's eat."

They had started to eat in silence. The first words were about the food. Dean did enjoy the seafood and Sam thought his kung pao chicken was the best he ever had. The conversation shifted to work. They talked about Scotland Yard and Dean amused both Sherlock and John with his encounter with Anderson at the museum. The Englishmen were more interested in some of their past cases and Dean and Sam regaled them with tales of some of their more bizarre cases, bringing up the time they encountered and enchanted wishing well and when they were stuck in TV land. It shifted to hen Lilith was trying to break the seals.

"Were you able to prevent one?" John had asked as he broke open his fortune cookie.

"Just the one," Sam said before he wiped his mouth with his napkin. "We had to keep two reapers from being killed and were able to save one of them."

"How were you able to accomplish that?" Sherlock asked.

"It was a bit difficult," Dean said. "We were spirits at the time and the demons had guns with salt rock and kept us out with iron chains."

"You were ghosts?" John asked. "You were dead at the time."

"No," Sam said and held up his hand. "We had a medium help us leave our bodies just long enough to save Tessa." They were able to leave their bodies. Why didn't Dean remember that detail before?

"Tessa?" Sherlock and John asked at the same time.

"That's it," Dean said and slammed his hand on the table.

"Tessa?" Sam asked.

"No a medium. They gotta have psychics in this country. We hire one and Sherlock and I will be able to climb out of these bodies-"

"And back into our own," Sherlock finished. "Is this possible?" He looked over to Cas who just shrugged.

"We have to try it right?" Sam asked. "It might be our only shot."

"I'll go look up every psychic and medium in town," John said as he grabbed his laptop and sat down in his chair. "I'll look for everyone outside of town. I'll call Mycroft and tell him."

Dean placed his hands behind his head and sighed. He was going to be able to get his own body back. He was going to be with his brother and Cas. He was going to drive his baby and listen to his music. His smile faded at the fact he was going to have to fly back.

* * *

He was still in a good mood when Sherlock's phone rang. He looked at the number and it was from Greg. The only reason the detective inspector would call would either be to see if they had switched back or if it was about the werewolf attacks and Dean was certain Greg wasn't going to just call him to just say. 'Are you two back yet.'

"Hello Greg," Dean greeted.

"Is this still Dean?" Lestrade asked.

"Afraid so," Dean answered. "Hopefully not much longer. The good news is the real Sherlock is here and in my body, but he is here."

"You asked me to call if that thing struck again," Lestrade said in a tense voice. "It has. We found a body and there are reports of a mad man running around Green Park."

"We are on our way," Dean said and hung up.

"Where are we going?" Sam asked as he stood up.

"Lestrade called about a mad man running around Green Park," Dean said with a smile. "Time to bag ourselves a werewolf."

* * *

Dean was happy with the precautions they had made before they left. Sherlock did have silver bullets in his apartment. They didn't bring any guns even though they had badges. They loaded up a couple of P226R pistols and a couple of glocks that Sherlock said he confiscated from a few men who broke into his place. They would take two separate cabs and get out in two different locations of the park.

"Now it is time for the student to become the master," Dean said as Sam and Sherlock were about to step inside one of the cabs, earning an eye roll from his brother. "He will teach him the way."

"And you will teach me the way?" John asked as the cab drove off.

"No because you are staying here."

"The hell I will stay behind, and don't you go puffing out your chest and talking all about how it is dangerous and you are afraid I will get hurt. I am a soldier, Dean. I have seen horrors in Afghanistan you couldn't imagine. I have assisted Sherlock in tracking down several criminals, each one more dangerous than the last. I am not about sit about on my duff while you, your brother and my friend are running around chasing after some bloodthirsty werewolf."

"This is why I like you," Dean said with a smile and held out his arm to catch the cab.

"Besides when we come across the rest of Lestrade's officers they are going to expect to see me trailing behind."

"Trail behind and make sure I give a convincing performance." Not only was he going to have to do some hunting but acting. This would be good practice for just in case the spirit walk failed.

* * *

There were several roadblocks surrounding the park, apparently Lestrade had taken the right precautions and secured the area, making sure no one would enter. It was a smart idea on the DI's part.

"Sorry mate," the cabby said as one of the officers walked up to them. "I don't think I will be able to allow you to get out here."

"Actually we will be fine," John told the man and handed him some money. "Sherlock?"

Dean stepped out of the cab as the officer was about to tell the cab driver to move along. He took one look at Dean before sighing. Dean just gave him a slightly annoyed and slightly bored expression.

"Where is Lestrade?" John asked.

"He's this way," the officer said. "But I can assure you this is not your area. We are looking for a wild animal and a madman."

"Don't be so sure," Dean said as he nudged past the cop. He headed towards the direction the cop had pointed when he heard gunshots.

"Christ," John gasped.

"That could be Sam," Dean said in triumph. "We better catch up." He took off, racing towards the direction of the guns. He looked over his shoulder to make certain John was able to keep up and to his surprise the doctor was able to follow. John had been running after his friend for a while now, Dean should not be surprised.

"Halt," a female voice shouted as they were few feet away from a motionless body surrounded by several officers. "I will not allow you to tamper with evidence." The same female officer that Dean had come across in the morgue was standing directly in the middle of the path.

"Good evening sergeant Donovan," John greeted. "Were you able to bring down the suspect?"

"It took several of our men," Donovan answered proudly. "We would not be needed your assistance this evening, nor his." She nodded at Dean's direction.

"Where is Lestrade?" Dean asked. He kept his focus on the body and wanted to get the people out of there.

"He is busy at the moment," Donovan said.

"Not that busy." Lestrade approached them. "We had to shoot him down. "

"Greg," Dean said as he got close to the DI. "Did you see its eyes or teeth or if he had claws?"

"Did he just call you, Greg?" Donovan asked. "And why is he asking about teeth and claws." She took a deep breath. "You are acting even more odd, Holmes."

"I am going to choose to ignore you," Dean said before he motioned Lestrade to follow him. Once they were alone he asked. "Well?"

"No I didn't but a few of my men have," Lestrade answered and he took one look at Dean's face. "We did kill it right?"

"Did you use any silver?" John asked.

"None of my men carry silver in their weapons," Lestrade answered before his eyes widened. "That thing will rise again?"

"Get your men out of here," Dean said as he strode up to the body. "Move, move, move." His fear grew when they just stood there and looked at him. "Get out of the freaking way!" He no longer gave a damn if he was acting like Sherlock or not.

"The body is still warm," Anderson said as he took one step away from it. The rest of the officers had common sense to walk away "You can't even wait for it to go cold before you want to subject it to your experiments?"

"I don't have time to deal with you, short bus. You have to get away now before this thing rises."

"Rises?" Anderson asked. "You are even more daft in the head than I-"He was cut off by a growl as the body rose up onto its haunches. Anderson screamed and jumped back, avoiding the werewolf by a hair.

Dean ignored all distractions and fired two shots at the monster. The first was in the head to knock it back and the second shot was right in the heart. He let out a sigh of relief and heard the sound of several people running up behind him.

"My god," Donovan breathed. "He did rise. He wasn't dead." She turned to Dean. "How did you know?"

"You didn't use silver," Dean said as he placed the pistol back into the holster.

He looked up when he saw Sam and Sherlock race up to them, despite the fact they were running around in a strange park they still looked like clean cut federal agents.

"And the FBI is here," Dean said.

"Who are you?" Donovan asked.

"Special Agent Navarro and Kiedis," Sam answered as both he and Sherlock held up the badges. "We were tracking down the same suspect"

"The suspect is now dead, agents and Lestrade. You both can compare notes and Lestrade's men and women can clean this up and once you do an autopsy be sure to examine the stomach. You will find the remains of a human heart in there, but don't let Anderson come near it. He needs to go home and change his pants and trousers." He turned on his heel, turned up his collar and walked off.

"That was bracing," John told him.

"Yeah it was," Dean said as he walked beside him "Sorry I dropped the mask back there." He glanced over his shoulder at Lestrade speaking with Sam and Sherlock. He wasn't sure but it almost seemed like Greg was happy with speaking with the real Sherlock Holmes.

"It was an emergency," John told him and gave him a pat on the back.

"I might have to learn how to keep it on," Dean said. "In case the medium fails."

"Well we just have to hope that he or she won't."


	18. Chapter 18

_Chapter 18_

* * *

John had searched for a decent medium for a day and found one by the name of Claudine who had said she can bring souls out of their bodies for a short while. It would be a high price, but she claimed she can deliver. The only problem was that they had to wait two more days before she would stop by the flat.

Two days they had to wait until the psychic would be able to see them. Sherlock had to wait two more days while living in Dean Winchester's body, walking around and wearing those clothes of his. Sherlock had tried to put on one of his own button down shirts but they were too tight on Winchester's body. Dean had tried to wear one of his own shirts but they hung on Sherlock's body in a ridiculous manner, of course if that hunter kept on eating the way he did then it might fit. Sherlock tried not to think too hard on that subject and focused on training Dean to be more like him

They had time to pass while waiting. Sherlock gave Dean a few more lessons on how to play the violin while both hunters quizzed him on proper ways to track down and kill various monsters. Sherlock tried to walk around and copy Dean's mannerisms and the hunter did the same. There were some times when Sherlock had thought he was just watching a home movie of himself. Those few moments only lasted a few seconds before Dean did something moronic.

When they were not teaching each other Dean would go sight-seeing with Sam and promised that he would keep up the performance while they were out and sometimes Sherlock would go with them so Mrs. Hudson wouldn't worry.

There were a few times when Lestrade would call to report about the autopsy of the werewolf and the fact that there were human hearts found in its stomach. The DI brought up the fact that the whole department were in a bit of a fright and they think Sherlock was a bigger freak than before, not that any of that matters.

"We still have six more hours before the psychic shows," Sherlock had said after the three of them returned to the flat from another short sightseeing trip. "Are we ready for another lesson?"

"What do you want to know?" Sam asked as he picked up his laptop.

"Actually I believe it is time for another violin lesson," Sherlock said with a smile and earning a pained expression from Dean. So that is how he looks when idiots annoy him. "You will need to know this. We still have to make our contingency plan in case this fails."

"I know, I know," Dean groaned.

Sherlock had retrieved his violin and sat back down when he heard his phone's ringtone.

"Dean," Sam reminded his brother.

"Hello?" Dean answered the phone. "An amputated foot has been brought to you. That does sound intriguing. I will be there shortly." He hung up. "Gotta skip the lesson, Sherly. You're girlfriend wants to see you, or better yet us."

"It would be best to let her know," Sherlock said as he stood back up. They had planned on telling Molly the truth and now would be a good time. He also wanted to have a good look at the foot.

"You are going to be okay, Sam?" Dean asked as he stood up.

"I can take care of myself," Sam said. "John should be getting off soon and I'll have the company."

* * *

It was no surprise to Sherlock that Molly would smile and greet Dean first before offering him a cup of coffee. He had estimated it would take her eleven seconds before she would notice him and he was accurate.

"Who is this?" Molly asked as she gave Sherlock a good long look. She was intrigued with him.

"Molly I know this sounds ridiculous but I am Sherlock," Sherlock answered without missing a beat. "The man who you have mistaken for me is named Dean Winchester. He is not just a character in a series of books."

"That accident that knocked your boyfriend out had an interesting side effect," Dean said. "I came across something similar that hit me with the flood light and when I woke up I looked like this." He pointed both fingers at himself.

"What he is saying is true," Sherlock said and studied her appearance. "You have parted your hair to a different side than you always do." He sniffed. "There is also a new fragrance about you, not too powerful and a bit like a sweet, or perhaps a cake." He sniffed again. "Yes there is a trace of vanilla and it is not perfume. You are either using a new lotion, or a body butter, or scented powder."

"Yeah I noticed that a couple of seconds ago," Dean said and shrugged. "I just know how to keep my mouth shut."

"Damn!" Sherlock knew what to look for but Dean's brain was not as attuned and it was slower than his.

"This," Molly said slowly as she looked back and forth at each of them. "This is not possible."

"You told Johnny that Cas was real," Dean said. "Wasn't there a story about Sam switching bodies with a kid named Gary?"

"You two rehearsed this," Molly said.

"Why would I participate in something so juvenile?" Sherlock asked.

"Let me give you the lowdown," Dean said as he walked around the room. "We are not sure if we can get back to our own bodies. We have a medium coming to Sherly's pad and if she can't fix this then we are stuck and that means he will be going back with my brother to be a hunter and I gotta stay here and be a consulting detective and pretend to be all British, no offense and I just think it is only fair to tell you. You're a nice girl and very easy on the eyes and if you are flirting with me you would be flirting with me not Sherlock."

"You were wearing a light pink blouse under your lab coat when I first met you," Sherlock said. Molly was speechless when Dean told her the truth. "You also had on lipstick that was a coral hue and you had an iPod with you. It wasn't because you listening to your music while you worked. This iPod was new at the time because you had just bought it after your old one was stolen out of your locker and even though you changed the lock you didn't want to leave anything so you kept your purse, your mobile and your iPod with you. They did catch the thief and it turned out that doctor Carson from cardiology had sticky fingers. It was a pity those fingers were also butterfingers and he broke it."

"To be fair Butterfingers tend to make your fingers sticky," Dean said with a smile that faded when Sherlock and Molly gave him a look. "I'm shutting up now."

"You knew I had my iPod stolen," Molly said when she turned back to him. "You even found out it was Doctor Carson two hours later." She blinked. "Sherlock that really is you in there."

"Hi I'm Dean," Dean held out his hand for her. "I know this is kind of strange shaking my hand like this."

"Oh no this is feels nice," Molly said and shook his hand while he nodded at Sherlock with a smug grin on his face.

"Now that we have gotten that detail out of the way where is the foot?" Sherlock asked.

"Right here it is," Molly wielded out the tub with the mangled foot. There were gaping holes in it, bullet wounds from a shotgun. "You can see why it had to be cut off."

"Ithaca 37," Sherlock and Dean said at the same time when they looked at it.

"You both know?" Molly asked in an impressed tone.

"He's the genius," Dean said as he pointed at Sherlock. "I just know from experience. How familiar are you with those books."

"I've read some," Molly said and looked down. "I've actually read them all and a few twice. Castiel has come back to you?"

"Yep."

Sherlock ignored them as he took a scalpel and sliced off some of the flesh around the wound and placed it on a slide.

"Dude that's gross," Dean said as he cringed and backed away.

"If I wasn't convinced before I am now," Molly said as she played with her hair. "You have examined similar things."

"Not like Bill Nye over here and Sam did most of the examinations."

"Could you please not talk?" Sherlock asked as he continued to examine the flesh. He marveled at the singe marks and the tears.

"We're talking so tough," Dean said. He did not react to Sherlock's groan. "Are you going to be all right with this? I know I only look like him and can think like him sometimes, but I would like to start on the right foot to knowing you."

"Do you want to go out with me?" Molly asked. She sounded a bit smitten.

"Maybe down the road, but I want to get to know you and become friends. I'm not into all experiments that he does-"

"I will ask you to perform some for me," Sherlock said.

"Looks like we will be seeing more of each other," Dean said. "You don't mind us talking and getting to know each other?"

"Of course this has to be a trying time for the both of you."

"It's not like you two won't ever see each other again. There is e-mail and you can call each other, visit each other and there is this thing called Skype where you can talk and see each other."

"Dull," Sherlock said.

"What?" Dean asked.

"Video chats are dull. Looking at each other's faces via a camera and speaker to talk about how the day went, so very dull." He heard footsteps before he felt a hand smack him across the back of his head. He looked up to see his own eyes glaring back at him.

"Compassion jack ass, learn it."

"You didn't have to hit him," Molly said softly.

"I was actually hitting myself," Dean said. "Sorry he's kind of a dick."

"Ugh," Sherlock groaned. "Molly have this prepared for transport. We are going back to the flat."

* * *

Sherlock refused to speak to Dean during the cab ride home and almost wished they had taken different cabs. As soon as they returned to the flat he put the main foot in the freezer and took the samples and put them under the microscope to continue his research. He ignored Dean and the others and knew he was complaining about him.

"Sherly," Dean called out to him. Sherlock chose to ignore him. He had enough of the boorish man. Only when he heard the music from his violin did he look up. Dean was standing in the entrance with his violin in one hand and bow in the other.

"What do you think you are doing?" Sherlock growled.

"You wanted to give me a lesson right?"

"Fine," Sherlock said in a defeated tone. He took the violin from Dean. "Now focus on what I do. Use all of your senses to listen and feel." He played a few chords slowly before handing it to Dean who copied him. Sherlock played a few more that were a bit more complicated and slightly faster and Dean matched perfectly. At the end of the lesson he played a short sonata and watched in a combination of fascination and satisfaction that Dean was able to play it.

There was a small applause from John and Sam, even Castiel had clapped.

"I still don't think I will get the hang of it," Dean said. "You keep me trying to listen to classical music and I can't really picture it in my head."

"I am having trouble picturing the music in your head," Sherlock said as he watched Dean draw the bow across the strings. "I still need to use my books." He placed his hand against his mouth and tried to think.

"It's just not me," Dean said as he played, well he was playing something.

"Dude," Sam said.

"What?" Dean asked as he continued to play.

"As I rose above the noise and confusion," John sang under breath. "Just to get a glimpse beyond this illusion."

Sherlock opened his eyes as his hand dropped. He watched in amazement as Dean continued to play that Kansas song.

"How am I doing this?" Dean asked. He didn't stop for a second.

"You envisioned the music," Sherlock said with a grin. "Of course for you it would be something you listen to on daily basis, but you see the notes in your head."

"Wow," Dean said once he had finished and once again everyone clapped. Even Sherlock applauded him.

"Beautiful as always, Sherlock," Mrs. Hudson said from the entrance to the flat. "You have another guest. One of these days you or John will answer the door yourselves."

The guest turned out to be a woman in her early forties. She had dark hair with a few streaks of silver and a slight bit of extra weight. She dressed like she worked in a bank except for the necklace made of large wooden beads and the large silver earrings in the representation of the mother, daughter and grandmother.

"Hello I'm Claudine," the woman said. "A John Watson has called for me."

"Yes I did," John said and pointed to his chair. "Please have a seat. Thank you Mrs. Hudson."

"If you need anything," Mrs. Hudson said as she walked away.

"I do need my laundry taken care of," Dean said as he put the violin away.

"I am not your housekeeper," Mrs. Hudson said as she made her way down the stairs. "How many times do I have to remind you?"

"I would like to get the number of the interior decorator," Claudine said as she glanced around. "I do need to redecorate my home."

"We'll swap wall paper tips and lessons on fen shui later," Sam said. "You are able to guide those to astral projection?"

"I am the one," Claudine said. "I brought the ingredients necessary for this task. Now I just need a hot cup of tea."

"I don't remember Pam using tea," Dean said and glanced at Sam.

"It's not for the soul walk," Claudine said as she pulled several vials from her large purse. "It's for me."

"I'll go put a pot on," John volunteered. "Anyone else would like a cup?" He watched as Dean put his hand up.

"I'll have a cup," Sherlock said as he watched the strange medium mixed together the ingredients in mortar that she had also kept in her purse. He wondered what else she had in there when she brought out two small glasses.

"Kinda like Mary Poppins," Dean said.

"I haven't gotten that before," Claudine said. "I heard about the little problem you two have and I hope this works. Are you certain you want me and not a witch? I do know of a few witches and I'm pretty sure they have a better chance at fixing this than me."

"Not sure if a witch can help," Dean said. "Not if her supplies had been stolen."

"Then you ask a witch who hadn't been robbed. In fact my f-"

"I am not paying a witch," John said. "Not quite yet. You are here and you said you can fix it."

"I'll give it my best," Claudine said. "My methods are most likely different from this Pam. Now come here, handsome." Dean took a step towards her. "Not you."

"Oh you want my body," Dean said and placed his hand on Sherlock. "Take a clue buddy."

"Not him either," Claudine said. She pointed at Castiel before she beckoned him over to her. "Do you talk?"

"I do," Castiel said as he approached her.

"I love the talk dark and quiet type." She poured equal amounts of the mixture into the cups. "Now give these to the two." She handed the angel the cups and as soon as he turned around she pinched his bum, earning a snicker from both Sam and Dean.

"I refuse to drink this," Sherlock said when he was handed his cup.

"Drink it before I cram it down your throat," Dean said before he gulped down his. He laid his body down on the floor and closed his eyes. "The stuff didn't do this. It's just more comfortable this way."

Sherlock gulped down the mixture. It was a bitter vile drink with a clinging after taste. He stretched out on the floor next to Dean and closed his eyes, hoping that it might work.

"Now we will go on a journey," Claudine said. "Think of something that keeps you calm." That was easy for Sherlock. All he needed was a good cigarette and his violin. "Now remember your last dream and walk backwards from that. Count down from 10." She spoke some words in Latin. "Now you walk."

"This is absurd," Sherlock said as he sat up. He blinked at the sound of his own voice coming from his mouth.

"You want to think again?" Dean asked as he sat up. He was sitting up in the middle of Sherlock's body.

"It worked?" Sherlock asked and stared down to see Dean's sleeping form. "John it worked."

"They can't hear or see us," Dean said. "Except for Cas. Cas you can communicate with us?"

"I see you both," Cas said.

"Handsome and able to see and hear spirits," Claudine said in an impressed tone. "What do you do for fun?"

"I like bees and playing board games," Cas answered.

"Would you look at this," Dean said. He smiled and shook his head as he pointed at the angel and the medium. "She's hitting on the world's oldest virgin and he doesn't even know it."

"I am aware of the flirtation, Dean," Cas told him.

"And do you like it?" Claudine purred.

"I think I do," Cas said earning another chuckle from Dean.

"Can we get on with it?" Sherlock asked.

"Can we get on with it?" Sam had repeated. "Cas, just tell us when they climb back into their bodies."

"Come on Sherly," Dean said as he stood up and walked over to him.

Sherlock walked over to his own body. He positioned himself and sat down until he was lying perfectly aligned with his own flesh. He willed his ghostly fingers to hold on tight.

"They are ready," Cas said.

"Now it is time to return," Claudine said. She chanted some more in Latin.

Sherlock had felt like he had almost nestles when something pulled him and he flew out. The sensation ended and he opened his eyes. Did that mean it worked?

"Son of a bitch," Dean said. It had to have been Dean, but that was Sherlock's voice.


	19. Chapter 19

_Chapter 19_

"Fucking Crowley," Dean sat up from where he had stretched out on the floor. It almost seemed like his soul was attached to an elastic chord and the other end was Sherlock's solid body. He stared at his hand before glancing back at his own body. Sherlock was also sitting up and looked just as disappointed as he was.

"I'm sorry," Claudine said softly. "I had no idea if this was going to work as you thought it would. I wish you achieved the results you wanted."

"You did it wrong," Sam stormed up to her. "You did the spell wrong."

"I did it correctly," Claudine said. "But if you actually listened to my suggestion in the first place then maybe-"

"Maybe nothing," Sam interrupted her and stared down at her. "You said you could help. You said you could put them back."

"Do you even have any idea what you were doing?" John asked. He had been leaning against the frame of the kitchen entrance. "We should have researched more into this. We should have looked at her credentials."

"They were out of their bodies," Claudine said. "You paid for the two of them to spirit walk. You were under the assumption that by just walking out of their bodies they would be able to climb back into their own and stay there. Magic doesn't work that way."

"It doesn't work that way because you did it wrong," John thundered. "You were our last hope. You were supposed to be the one to set things right. You are nothing but-"

"John, stop it," Sherlock ordered as he stood up. "We did get what we had paid for. Dean and I were able to leave our physical forms. There was no telling if this method was going to work."

"Cas saw us," Dean said as he gave his angel friend a pat on the shoulder. "Right?"

"They were able to spirit walk."

"I have brought many out to the astral plane before," Claudine said in a shaking voice. Her eyes were set on a deathglare that is aimed at both John and Sam. "One of you best be getting back into the kitchen before all the water boils away."

"Excuse me?" Sam asked. He was still seething.

"I agree with him," John said. "This is my flat and you do not order me around and tell me to check on the bleeding kettle when it's not even-" the sound of the tea kettle whistle cut him off.

"John, serve the tea," Sherlock ordered.

"You are not backing her up now?" John asked in an alarmed tone.

"John, stop arguing for our sakes," Sherlock said. "Please stop."

"But Sherlock can't you see that…"John trailed off after he got a good look at Sherlock's face. "I'll get the tea."

"Foolish men," Claudine said under breath. "I try to give the right advice and they refuse to listen, but when it doesn't work they blame you." She shook her head and stormed out.

"Great," Dean said as she walked out. "That's just great."

"Let her go," Sam said. He had calmed down a bit. "She's useless."

"Maybe we will all feel better after a hot cuppa," Dean said while trying not to let his frustration grow. He was developing another nicotine craving and walked over to the skull where he had placed a few patches. He was going to work on weaning himself off that.

"Hot cuppa?" Sam just looked at him. "Are you giving up?"

"Yes," Dean said and squeezed his eyes to hold back the tears. "My name is Sherlock Holmes. I have an older brother named Mycroft who works for the government. I live in 221 B with my roo—flatmate John Watson and our land lady is Mrs. Hudson. I am a detective a consulting detective with New Scotland Yard and I speak with DI Greg Lestrade and him only because he doesn't annoy me." The last words came out in a rasp as his voice cracked. He looked up to see that Sam is right in front of him. "I'm gonna miss you, Sammy."

"You are and always will be my brother," Sam said as he placed his hands on his shoulder. "Now with that out of the way, suck it up and snap out it. We are not giving up."

"Sam," Dean choked out.

"Every time we were about to give up we get a new idea, or something new comes up-"

"And gives us false hope," Dean pushed him out of the way. "I'm tired of running around looking for solutions that are not there. I've had enough. I just want to live and if it's going to be like this well then it's going to be like this."

There was a shattering sound of a cup breaking in the kitchen.

"Oh look what you have done now," John shouted. "That was one of our nicer guest cups."

"You will go to the shop and buy another set," Sherlock's said. "And you were the one who dropped it."

"It slipped."

"Only because you were not paying attention."

"I would be paying attention if some arrogant prat wasn't telling me to let it go, Sherlock. I'm not going to just let you leave."

"We have exhausted all avenues, John," Sherlock said as he left the kitchen carrying a tray and six cups of tea. "If we keep pushing we might not like the results." He set the tray down on the coffee table.

"I refuse to accept it," John said as he brought out a bowl of sugar cubes and a carton of milk. "Sorry if you were expecting cream but this is all we had."

"I really don-" Sam had started.

"Just enjoy a cup," Dean said as he placed some sugar in his. "I agree with Sherlock and this happens to be our lives. We'll just train each other a little better before we have to live them."

"You might not have to," Cas had said as he walked back into the apartment. Dean hadn't noticed that he had left. "Claudine is speaking with witches in the area. One might help."

"I thought she left," Sam said.

"She needed to cool off for a minute," Cas explained. "She is on her cellular phone and calling some of the witches that she knows, or aka people she had suggested before." He used his fingers to make quotation marks around aka. There is still a lot for him to learn about the world.

"But you said Crowley got all the books and stuff," Dean said before he took a sip from hs tea. It was as delicious as before. John really did brew a good tea.

"Some witches have demon proofed their homes," Castiel explained. "Mostly those who practice white magic as they did not wish to associate with those stains."

"Yeah," Sam said and raised a finger. "They put demon traps under rugs in the doorways, keep devil's shoestring and salt around windows then Demons can't enter. We might have a way."

"Last one, Sammy," Dean said and held up his finger. "Promise me that if this doesn't work then we are done."

"Dean I-"

"Just promise me." He snapped the response while staring deep into his brother's hazel eyes. Sam had his bitch face on and nostrils flared twice.

"Fine I promise."

"Thanks," Dean said and turned to Sherlock. "This okay with you, Sherly?"

"I am fine with this possible and final solution," Sherlock answered. He had sat back down in his chair with his legs drawn up, feet on the edge and palms pressed together. "I do wonder why Castiel was unable to enter their homes."

"I…" Cas almost seemed to have paused and stared into space for a second. "I did not think of searching the homes of witches." His tone was unconvincing. Dean still couldn't figure out why he was staring into space all those times. Castiel seemed not to remember any of those times when his mind wandered into Lala land.

"You are hiding something," Sherlock accused.

"Easy," Sam said and held up a hand. "Cas is probably covering the fact that there were probably some sigils in enochian that kept him from entering."

"Yeah witches can be paranoid about angels," Dean said before he drank a little more of his tea. "Can't say that I blame them." He appreciated the fact that Sam had stuck up for Cas, then again his brother always seemed to try to be on Cas's side even when Dean was suspicious of him.

"Success," Claudine said as she walked into back into the room with her arms raised and her Hello Kitty phone in her right hand. "My friend Abby will be able to help. She's a white magic witch. She tries to avoid the dark stuff but keeps books and a few items just for study purposes, but she would be willing to do such a spell. It will cost you though and it would be more than what I ask for."

"How do we know you are not lying?" Sam asked. His brow was furrowed and hands were on his hips.

"Because if I was lying you would track me down and you and the short one would break down my door," Claudine answered. "I want you to succeed. London can't survive with some cocky idiot riding around inside the great Sherlock Holmes can we?" She glanced over towards the direction of Sherlock. "Even if the fool has a pretty face and a squeezable arse." She handed two slips of paper over to Cas. "One is Abby's number and the other is mine." She winked at the angel before she approached Dean. "I only received half my payment."

"Right," Dean said and pulled out Sherlock's wallet. He handed her the remaining bills that was part of her payment. "Oh and for that idiot comment, bite me."

"I'd do that for free," Claudine said with a wink and walked out the door.

"Good riddance," John 's remark had cut through the silence that hung in the air five minutes after the psychic had left. "I can't believe we paid her for basically nothing. You all heard all that rubbish that she was spouting."

"What is it with psychic ladies?" Dean asked before glancing in the mirror. "I think she wants a piece of you too there, Sherly."

"Do not be ridiculous," Sherlock said. He was still in that thinking crouch. "We do not need to dwell on superfluous thoughts."

"He is right, Dean," Cas said as he looked at one of the numbers. "We should check out this witch."

"You gonna just poof us there?" Dean asked. He noticed the way that John and even Sherlock were looking at him and remembered what poof meant in the U.K. "Teleport."

"Carrying four of you at once might be a little difficult," Cas explained.

"I am not certain if I want to teleport," John said.

"Would be an interesting experience," Sherlock said as he rose to his feet. "But perhaps it would be for the best if the four of us humans took a cab and Castiel could meet us there."

"That would be for the best," Cas said and vanished.

"He's already there," Dean said. "We will give this a try and Sam this is the last time." He didn't even bother to wait for a retort from his brother before he stepped out. He would of continued if he remembered they were not ready. "We need to be prepared before we leave."

"How are we going to be prepared for facing a witch?" John asked.

"We have to make sure we have silver, salt, holy water and salt bullets," Sam explained.

"Looks like we are going to make a stop at a church on the way," Dean said and took one more glance of himself in the mirror. He hoped it would be the last time he saw the refection that was not his own.

* * *

Claudine informed them that her friend, Abby lived in the south of London. It was a long drive and the sun had nearly set by the time they reached the neighborhood of the witch. There was something not right with the area. There were two tow headed children playing with a jump rope in front of the house across the way from Abby's. There was also someone walking their dog down the sidewalk and another person watering their lawn two houses down.

"There is something wrong," Sherlock had said after a quick glance around.

"I'm not surprised you see it too," Dean said.

"What is it?" John asked.

"Two school children playing outside," Sherlock began. "They are still wearing their uniforms, unusual since they are home and have been home for hours. They would have had time to change into something more comfortable and would not mind getting dirty."

"That woman walking her dog," Dean said. "The dog is trailing behind and bristling its back at its owner. She is walking away from us but she can see us through her compact mirror. Then there is that guy over their watering his grass when it had rained earlier today and there was a light drizzle today and another shower expected tomorrow and this aint the south west during the middle of August."

"We are being spied upon?" John asked as he looked around. "But two of them are children."

"Not children," Sam said catching on. "Those are demons."

"Oh good demons," John smiled weakly. "How do you suppose we are going to deal with them."

"We kill them," Sherlock said in a precise tone. "Sam has brought his knife."

"I brought it but I'm not using it on those kids," Sam said.

"No one is icing any kids," Dean said as he dismissed with his hands. "Where the hell is Cas?"

"I don't see him," Sam said.

"Surely you don't suggest we stay in this car and wait for him," Sherlock said.

"We move," Dean ordered. " Now." He stepped out of the cab and just as he thought the man watering his lawn looked over his way and the children stopped playing.

"John, pay the man," Sherlock ordered as he stepped out.

"Only four not good," Dean muttered as they walked to the house. It would be too easy. He was not surprised Crowley had anticipated they would seek out witches, but why not more. Well duh even Crowley wouldn't know which witch they were going to seek out so he had them spread out.

"How did Crowley know?" John asked.

"He sent his soldiers out to steal everything that we could use to change back," Sherlock told him. "They cannot enter a house that has devil traps set up."

"Demons sense they can't enter and they tell their boss," John said as he put the clues together. "And now they are coming towards us."

"Get ready," Dean said. He slipped his hand into a pocket and felt the pistol.

"Now," Sam had said as both John and Sherlock spun around and doused two of the demons with holy water. As the two adults reeled back in pain Dean shot one in the chest with a salt bullet. Sam tackled the other and plunged the knife into his neck.

"Dean Winchester," the little girl said. "You are a very bad boy."

"Uncle Crowley told you the rules," the boy said. "You are breaking them."

"That's cheating," the girl said. "You should be punished."

"Oh no," Dean said as he shook his head. "I know when you black eyed sons of a bitches-"

"You said a naughty word," the girl gasped.

"Whenever your kind possess kids you all like to play cute, but you can cut the crap right now."

"Well if you insist," the boy said as both their eyes turned black.

"Douse them," Dean shouted as he was thrown against a window. "Sam!" He heard the sound of two more bodies flying through the air along with gunshot. Dean slid down and looked over to the children were they were on the ground and bleeding from the salt rock.

"They are not going to die?" John asked slowly as he lowered the rifle. "I'm sorry. I didn't know what to do."

"Nice shot," Sam groaned as he stood back up.

"You did not have a choice," Sherlock said as he rolled over in the grass. "We have to get inside and-"

"See me?" A voice came from the open door. A black woman around the age of twenty nine stood in the doorway. "Claudine told me you would be arriving as soon as possible. Now get in here before those two wake up."

"Come on," Dean ordered. He ran into the house first and paused when he saw the shotgun that was aimed at him.


	20. Chapter 20

_Chapter 20_

* * *

Sherlock entered the house right after Dean. His eyes were instantly drawn to the double barrel end of the shotgun, but the witch wasn't exactly aiming it at them but rather the door itself. Did she mean to shoot John or Sam?

"I knew it was a trick," Sam said as soon as he and John had entered.

"It's not for you." Dean had made the same realization as Sherlock.

"Get in and close the door," Abby ordered.

"We are also armed," John said. "Four of us against one of you and I'm not afraid of getting shot again." It was a lie. He was afraid and Sherlock could hear just the faint waver in his voice that he was trying to hide.

"She's not aiming at us," Dean said as he moved to the side. "She's making sure we get in safely incase more black eyed sons of bitches show up."

"Oh," John said and blinked. "Well then sorry about that."

"Apologize later and close the damn door," Abby said. Once Sam had closed the door and locked and bolted it she lowered the gun. "I don't blame you lot for any trust issues but when someone is holding a shot gun not aimed for you please listen to them."

"You are the witch," Sherlock said as he looked over. She was dressed in a lavender blouse that was purchased at Harrod's Sherlock remembered seeing the same blouse in a catalog Mrs. Hudson was thumbing through. The jeans were older and the shoes were leather walking shoes. There was a recent bite mark wounds on her arms, from cats as well as cat and dog scratches. There were various hairs from both animals, but she only had a few cats in the house by the scent of a cat box not far away. "You also work with animals, a veterinarian."

"That is correct," Abby said as she looked him up and down. "So is this famous consulting detective and now you are consulting with hunters." She scowled at the others.

"I'm not a hunter," John said.

"You are the assistant to Sherlock Holmes," Abby said as she made her way across her house.

"I'm also a doctor," John protested.

"A fellow doctor," Abby said as she glanced out the window to her backyard. "Where did that man go?"

"What man?" Dean asked.

"He wasn't possessed if that is what you were wondering, not that I think he was. He was wearing a tan overcoat and trapped in a ring of fire."

"Castiel," Sherlock said.

"One of the demons must have trapped him in a ring of holy fire," Sam said.

"I would have opened the door for you sooner," Abby said. "But I turned on the sprinklers to help him."

"Where is he now?" Dean asked as he looked around.

"Worry about that later," Abby said as she ran to her dining room table. Instead of dishes, bowls of fruit or decorative baskets of flowers she had knives, chains of silver, small bottles and vials, a mortar and pestle, candles and a book. There were also bullets. "We have to go to Cliftdon Hall."

"What is that?" Sam asked.

"A church," Sherlock answered. "This spell has to performed on actual holy ground?"

"I try to keep my magic on the light side of the force," Abby explained and earned a nod from Dean. "We need everything here. However I must warn you that since the magic involved is different than what had caused this then there might be a side effect."

"What kind of side effect?" Dean asked. He had no idea if it was physical, spiritual or mental and hoped it would be as something as minor as still having the taste for English tea.

"I am not certain how it would effect you specifically," Abby said. "I have consulted with several witches and they said it will not cause any harm."

"They are certain about that?" Sam asked in a worried tone. "We are going by what a group of witches say and just hope that any side effect might be minor?"

"We are not going to let you perform the spell," John said and stood in front of Dean and Sherlock. "You take one step near them and…"

"The side effects listed were things like keeping the preferred tastes of the other body," Abbey said. "And addictions. The more powerful side effects is they might be able to reach each other's minds or call out to each other via telepathy."

"That don't sound bad at all," Dean said and shrugged. "Worth the risk if that's the risk."

"This is our last possible chance, John," Sherlock said. "We are going to the church."

"Fine," John said and glared at Abby. "If anything does go wrong we will hunt you down and kill you."

"I am perfectly aware of that," Abby told him.

"Why are bullets part of the spread?" Sam asked and pointed at the ammo.

"That is to keep us protected from anything that might attack us," Abby explained. "These bullets were made from melted down goblets and chalices used in communion and plates used for tithes. They were cooled down in a solution of holy water and salt and have crosses carved in the front. Each one has a small Latin word carved in the side and each word is used in an exorcism."

"These bullets can kill a demon?" John asked in an impressed tone.

"Only one gun is known to do that," Abby answered. "These would slow them down and cause extreme agony."

"Girl did her homework," Sam said, clearly impressed.

"My car is in the front."

They gathered up the supplies needed in a rucksack and reloaded their pistols and shotguns with the bullets. Sam had looked out the window to see if there more demons and gave them an all clear sign before they ran out.

A dripping wet Castiel was standing over the sleeping forms of the two children who were possessed. Their salt rock wounds were healed and their clothing mended.

"Cas?" Dean was the first to speak. "What did you do?"

"I remove the demons without causing harm," Castiel explained. "And I healed them."

"Meeting at Clifton Hall," Dean answered as Abby unlocked the car. "You should let Sherlock drive."

"Why?" Abby asked.

"Because I will be able to transport everyone there the fastest," Sherlock answered as he grabbed the keys and slid behind the wheel.

* * *

With the combination of how fast he drove along with his knowledge of roads and Dean's driving skills Sherlock was able to arrive at the church within a few minutes and despite all of those factors they were still second to arrive after Castiel, but that was only because he was an angel with the ability to teleport.

"What happened to them?" John asked as they stepped out. He indicated the several bodies that surrounded the angel.

"Cas smoked some demons," Dean answered. He kept looking around as they approached the church.

"How did Crowley know we would be here?" Sam asked.

"He knows that you might need a church," Sherlock said. "The book in Abby's possession is not a first edition. There must be another copy."

"Eight copies to be exact," Abby answered once they reached the pavement. "I am the only one I know who hasn't had theirs stolen."

"These were the only ones around," Castiel answered once they reached him. "I am certain more will come."

"We better not waste any time," Sam said as he opened the door.

It was mostly dark inside , the fading light of the sun entering the windows was the only light that was inside. There was the scent of wood and freshly cleaned carpet as well as candle wicks that had been recently snuffed. It was also almost too quiet yet there was a soft scuffle of shoes rubbing against the carpet.

"We are not alone," John said in a low voice and pointed towards the direction of the pulpit. There were at least two dozen people inside all of them dressed conservatively and staring at them without any expression on their face. "Now I feel like Im in a movie where the folk have been taken over by aliens or robots or if I'm guessing right, demons."

"They are all possessed," Castiel said. He was poised like jungle cat ready to pounce.

"Waste them," Dean said and fired his pistol at one of them.

"First children and now a church?" John's asked and shook his head.

"Shut up John and attack," Sherlock said and fired his own gun at one of the demon's striking them in the eyes.

"Cover me," Sam said as he dove under the pews.

"Sam," Dean shouted out as he fired round after round at the demons. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Sam sneaking under the pews and making his way past the demons, but where was he heading? Dean looked up at the pulpit and then at the sides of the church. There were plenty of speakers and a microphone.

"Your brother has a clever plan," Sherlock said and fired at another demon.

"Behind you," Dean shouted and shot the demon that was about to attack Sherlock. He and the detective were side by side, nearly touching each other and slowly spun around, taking out the demons.

""Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, ominis satanica potestas, omnis incursion infernalis," Sam had reached the microphone and continued with the exorcism. His words carried out through the speakers.

Sherlock watched as the demons thrashed back and forth and several ran to the back, only to be stopped by Castiel. The angel grabbed the arms of the two demons nearest to him and their eyes and mouth were illuminated with a golden flash before they toppled over. A few more raced towards the front entrance where they were ready for them. Two more just looked at each other before their heads whipped back and long trails of black smoke flew out of their mouths. The remaining demons were on the ground writing in agony before more smoke flew out of their mouths. More flew out of the mouths of those who were shot.

"What did I just witness?" John asked.

"A group exorcism," Sherlock explained.

"That means they are normal again?" John asked in a relieved tone before staring down at one he had shot. "Bloody hell I killed him."

"You are a soldier, John," Sherlock reminded him. "You killed many men before."

"But this is-"

"War," Sam finished. "Continuing war between good and evil and sometimes there are casualties, even civilian ones. You of all people know that."

"But for you dismiss it coldy," John shook his head. "You are almost bad as him." He pointed at Sherlock.

"He could have been dead before the demon entered," Dean said. "Sometimes the demons kill the bodies the inhabit themselves."

"That's somewhat of a relief," John said.

"More will come," Abby said as she rewound the tape. "We need to perform the spell now."

"Cas I need you, Johnny boy and Sam to seal off all entrances," Dean said.

"I'll find some salt," Castiel said before he disappeared.

"Follow me to the pulpit," Abby instructed and ran towards it. She waited for them to catch up with the rucksack. "There are two small cloth bags in there, use the contents to make a circle."

Sherlock grabbed one and handed the other to Dean. His was full of teeth, canine, lupus canis to be exact. He set some down, starting the circle.

"Bones and teeth?" Dean asked in disgust. "Where the hell did you get this?"

"She works at a veterinary office," Sherlock reminded him.

"These were from cats that were humanly euthanized," Abby explained as she lit a few candles. "The wolf teeth came from a wildlife shelter. When you are done with the circle step inside it."

Sherlock was curious to what else she was going to have them do when she poured what looked like ash and a few herbs into the mortar and ground them up. She placed the mortar over the flame of one of the candles for a few seconds.

"Making potpourri?" Dean asked and earned a glare from Sherlock. "Sorry."

"This is going to hurt," Abby warned and grabbed Dean's wrist. "Blood must connect with blood." She cut a small x shape in the palm of his hand. "Sherlock?"

"Here," Sherlock said and brought up his wrist and gritted his teeth as the knife cute into his own hand.

"Now hold together, let the blood connect," Abby said.

"This makes perfect sense," Dean said as he and Sherlock grabbed each other's hand, making sure the cuts lined up.

"Try to stay quiet," Abby commanded as wrapped a silver chain around their wrists. She grabbed the mortar and continued to chant as she dipper her fingers into the mixture and painted it across their foreheads.

She set the mortar down and picked up a few vials. She pointed to her mouth, indicating she wanted both of them to open theirs before she squeezed a few drops onto Dean's tongue and then Sherlock's. The droplets tasted like ordinary water. Abby squeezed more liquid onto their tongues, the second vial tasted like oil and the third was one of the most bitter things Sherlock had also tasted and by Dean's expression he didn't like it either.

"Put your foreheads together," Abby said and resumed her chanting.

Sherlock was thankful that he and Dean were close in height. He was able to press his head against Dean's and stare into the silver-blue eyes that were once his and hopefully will be once again. He could feel their breathing becoming in sync and was certain their hearts were also beating in the same rhythm.

They were both trembling and the speed of their shaking grew causing them to vibrate. Sherlock could no longer breathe and felt himself being shoved forward at an alarming speed. The rush only lasted for a second before he felt himself fall backwards and landed on his backside.

"Dean!," Sam had shouted and ran up to them.

"Sherlock," John came rushing up to Dean while Sam was looking over him.

"I'm fine," Sherlock said as he rolled over. "I'm fine." He repeated. It was his voice. His real voice. He stared at his hands, recognizing them as his own before he ran one of them through his hair and felt his soft curls. "Sam it worked."

"Sherlock?" Sam asked as his mouth turned up into a grin.

"Halleluiah," Dean shouted from the other side with his own voice. "Johnny boy I'm back."

"Your back," John said as he pointed at both of them. "It worked. The ruddy spell actual worked." His smile faded as he turned towards Abby. "Oh."

Sherlock turned to where Abby was. The witch lay crumpled on the ground motionless with blood trickling out of her nose. John had rushed to her side and felt her pulse.

"Is she-" Dean had started.

"Alive," John said as he checked her body. "It's as if she just fainted."

"That was a powerful spell," Sam said. "It took a lot out of her."

"We should take her someplace safe," John said.

"I will take care of," Castiel said. He kneeled down next to Abby and placed a hand on her forehead.

"Please tell me it worked." Were the first words out of Abby's mouth.

"It did," Dean told her. "I would love to give you a victory kiss right now but we gotta clean this place up."

Castiel had taken care of those who were once possessed. He had healed those who were still alive and claimed to have sent them home. Sherlock and the others had put the bones and fangs back into the bags and rebottled most of the ash and herbs before they put the items in the rucksack.

"You almost seemed disappointed," John said as they were about to leave.

"This had been one of the most ineffable situations I have been in," Sherlock said. "It has opened up my mind and eyes to everything."

"We wouldn't have met if this hadn't happened," Dean said and placed a hand on Sherlock's shoulder. "I'm going to miss you and John."

"Don't speak like that," John said. "I'm sure we will meet again."

"There is e-mail and phonecalls," Sherlock said. "Skype also will work."

"You told me it was dull," Dean said.

"For you three I will gladly make an except-" He paused when he noticed the others had stopped in their tracks. He followed their line of site to the curb.

Crowley was standing in front of Abby's car. He was not upset, but he wasn't smirking either.

"Crowly," Dean had snarled the name as both brothers had assumed their defense stance.

"As you can see your little plan had failed," Sherlock said. "Mostly because you are an idiot."

"Everyone is an idiot compared to you, Zero Pigment," Crowley said in a calm manner. "Congratulations men, you have won despite all the hurdles I threw your way."

"This was a game?" Sherlock asked. "Of course it had to be. You are a bigger fool than I thought if you were actually going through all that trouble to keep us in each other's bodies. Did you really think for a second in that pathetic mind of yours that we would be willing to give up an innocent boy and your precious tablet?"

"I would, but then again I am the king of hell and you lot are burdened with morals and a conscience."

"Still can't believe you had your soldiers magic block us," Dean said in disbelief. "You had to know if all else fails we would live each other's lives from now on."

"But would you be happy?" Crowley asked and raised his eyebrows.

"We would have adjusted," Sherlock said as he reached for his pistol

"In a way I have won," Crowley said. "Even if I didn't get the tablet I made you squirm and I owe Winchesters a bit of that." He disappeared.

"Who the devil was that?" Abby asked as soon as Crowley had disappeared.

"Not the devil," John said. "But he is the king of hell."

"This is why I don't care for black magic," Abby said. "I don't know about you but I want to return home."

Sherlock glared at the spot where the demon was standing before he agreed. He did smile at the idea of going home where he can sit in his chair and drink from his cup and be his true self. He inhaled deeply before he sat in the passenger seat and decided to let Abby drive them home.


	21. Chapter 21

_Chapter 21_

* * *

Dean knew it was a dream. The last thing he remembered was falling asleep on the opposite side of the bed he had shared with Sherlock. There was once a time when he refused to be in the same bed with another man, even his own brother, but now that he had the experience of living in Sherlock's skin he didn't mind being in bed with him. He did vocalize that they were sharing a bed for sleeping purposes only though.

The dream was quite vivid and highly detailed. He could smell the scent of grass from the side of the road, hear the sounds of crickets chirping and jumping around in the grass and also hear the frogs as they croak and jumped after them. He felt the cool night breeze against his skin and the smooth bumper of his baby.

She was the best site. Her black frame was glossy as if she had just gotten a wax job. She reflected the stars in the sky above them. Dean loved to feel her hard metal frame of the hood under his fingers. The only thing that was missing was Sammy of course and a beer.

"Why am I here?" The voice of Sherlock cut through the silence of the night. The detective stepped out of passenger side of the car.

"My subconscious brought you here," Dean said and shrugged. "Sorry about that."

"That is not possible," Sherlock said.

"You don't think that you made an impact in my life?" Dean asked. He felt somewhat insulted considering all that they shared.

"I believe I have and you had the effect on me. I am saying this is not possible because I am the one who is dreaming."

"Getting philosophical on me?"

"No I distinctly remember falling asleep in my bed," Sherlock said as he stared at his hands. "Unless we are sharing a dream." He looked up. "But that is not possible."

"Stranger things have happened," Dean assured him. "Besides this might be a side effect of what we went through. Abby did warn us about that."

"We are mentally linked through our dreams." He looked at the sky. "You are in control of the atmosphere."

"I like this atmosphere," Dean said as he admired the stars. "It helps you really appreciate life and nature."

"It is beautiful." The Englishman agreed as he stared up. "Calm and quiet with no interruptions. I can think quite well like this."

"Many would pay money to come out here and see this." He looked over at Sherlock and remembered what Anderson had said. "Is it true that you didn't know the Earth went around the sun?"

"Rubbish information."

"True facts. You have gotta take a break from thinking about dead bodies and cases and learn to live."

"I do not wish to fill my head with these facts that are of no use to me."

"Man, you don't look at the stars to fill your head. You use it clean it out; get rid of all that junk that's causing thinking overload. You just stare, relax and let your mind cool down, and once it is clean then the first thoughts to return are the only ones to matter." He stretched out on the hood.

Sherlock said nothing as he sat down next to him and looked up. He gazed at the sky for several minutes before some of the stars rearranged themselves, turning into brand new constellations. The stars were connected with glowing neon.

"Am I doing that or you?" Dean asked.

"I am," Sherlock said in an amused tone as the human like figures generated glowing instruments and began to play classical music.

"Nice move with the cosmic laser concert," Dean said as he generated a bottle of beer for himself and a glass of wine for Sherlock.

* * *

Dean woke up when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He knew it was Sherlock and Dean responded by just rolling over and burring his head under the pillow.

"Are you going to sleep all day after cleansing your mind?" Sherlock asked.

"Naw," Dean said. "Just a few more minutes." He pulled the blanket over his head and felt himself drift back to sleep; only waking when he was able to smell freshly cooked sausages and toasted English muffins. "Now I'm up."

Dean had only taken a few minutes to shower and change into his clothes. His stomach was in full control of his body and his main priority was to eat.

"Good morning, Dean," Mrs. Hudson greeted as Dean found a spot at the table. There was barely any room left since he was the last to join. Even Cas was sitting at the table.

"Morning Mrs. H," Dean greeted. "What is that lovely aroma?"

"I baked muffins," Mrs. Hudson said as she held out a basket lined with a cloth and filled with round muffins.

"Thanks," Dean thanked her as he selected a couple and sliced one open.

"How are you feeling?" John asked. Dean was certain Sam would have asked if his brother wasn't draining his coffee mug.

"Like my old self," Dean said with a smile. His smile doubled in size when Mrs. Hudson placed some sausages and eggs on his plate. She disappeared again and returned with a mug of coffee.

"Will you both be doing some more site-seeing today?" Mrs. Hudson asked.

"Probably," Sam answered once he came up from air.

"How are you feeling, Cas?" Mrs. Hudson asked as she placed a hand on the angel's shoulder. "Losing a brother has to be awful. You poor thing."

"Thank you for your concern," Cas said before he took a bite from one of his muffins. "I am taking it one day at a time." That was just perfect, Dean had trained him well.

"Well if you need anything," Mrs. Hudson said as she walked out of the room.

"We will let you know," John told her before he raised his voice. "Thank you."

"After breakfast I'm going to look up flight times," Sam said. "I really enjoyed staying with you guys but we got to get back."

"Oh god," Dean groaned at the thought he had to be on a plane again. He did not want to think about that. "Can't we wait a little longer on that?" He used his knife to spread on a slice of butter and followed it with a generous dollop of strawberry jelly.

"You really don't want to leave us?" John asked as Sherlock's text ringtone went off. "I guess we are flattered."

"He has Aviphobia," Sherlock explained as he lowered his newspaper. "If you don't mind John and I will be out."

"Where are we going?" John asked as he set his fork down.

"Lestrade texted me, or rather Dean. Anderson finally finished writing his autopsy report on the werewolf and wishes to speak with us about it." He paused to smile. "It is quite a bit intriguing to hear me say that isn't it? I the great Sherlock Holmes referencing werewolves and witches and demons when just a week ago I would have claimed such beliefs were deluded or drug induced fantasies."

"Many feel that way," Dean said before he scarfed the last of his muffin. "I'll change into my suit and join you."

"You are coming with us?" John asked.

"Gotta represent my country on behalf of the FBI," Dean said. "Cas, Sam and I will give a good cover story and I want to tell Greg it was nice knowing him."

"You can come," Sherlock said. "Try not to look like an idiot." Just when Dean was getting to like the guy, but then he wouldn't be Sherlock and as far as Dean considered he wanted the detective to be himself.

"I thought you said that Anderson guy finished the autopsy a couple days ago," Sam spoke up.

"Finished the autopsy but not the report," Sherlock informed him. "The man takes too long to write anything decent."

* * *

"Follow our lead," Dean instructed as soon as he, Sam and Cas had stepped out of the cab. Despite the fact that he and Cast ok a different one from Sherlock and John and left earlier they had arrived at the same time. It didn't matter they agreed that the Americans would go inside first.

"I think I know what to do," Cas said as he and Dean entered the building.

"May we help you?" A receptionist asked.

"I'm agent Keidas and this is Agent Navarro, and Agent Hagar," Dean instructed as both he and Cas flashed their badges. "We have been working with DI Lestrade on a case that involved a madman who attacked the innocent and tore out their hearts."

"Oh," the receptionist said as she picked up a phone. "Sergeant Donovan this is Patsy up front. There are three American Federal agents here to see hi-"

"Where is Lestrade," Sherlock interrupted as he stormed his way through. Well that is one way to do it.

"He is busy," the receptionist said in a bitter tone as she scowled at him. "He is meeting with these gentlemen."

"It's all right miss," Dean said in his most suave voice. "Navarro, Hagar and I also worked with Detective Holmes and we can all meet together."

"It's not a problem is it?" John asked.

"I'm sorry." The receptionist's apology was directed at the Americans. "But you still have to wait."

"Pathetic," Sherlock muttered.

"Just thank her," John whispered in his ear.

"Thank you," Sherlock said. His face was still at an impasse.

They only had to wait for a few minutes before a black woman walked up to them. Dean recognized her from the morgue and when he plugged that werewolf.

"He will see you all now," Donovan said as she led them through the halls and stopped outside of closed office where Greg was standing. There were a few other officers and there was also Anderson leaning against the doorway.

"You were right about the hearts," Lestrade said. "Of course I already told you." He turned to Dean. "The suspect was found with the remains of human hearts in his stomach."

"They were partly digested," Anderson added. "I wonder how you came to that conclusion yourself, Holmes."

"The victims had their hearts torn out of them," Sherlock said. "The lacerations on the victim's body were from claw like fingernails which all have clearly seen on the suspect."

"That just means he clawed them out," Anderson said as he glared at the detective.

"We gave him a copy of the file," Dean explained. "Something strange going around Hoboken recently and we were called in." Hoboken was where he had heard the most recent werewolf attack take place and that was month ago. Garth had mentioned that a couple of other hunters had taken care of it. "The victims had their hearts removed and the ones who did this had the hearts in their stomach."

"There were others?" Lestrade asked as he looked at him.

"Yeah." Sam pointed at Anderson. "You did the autopsy?" He waited for the dweeb to nod. "Did you notice something was different about his blood?"

"I did," Anderson said in a triumphant tone and looked at Lestrade as if he was expecting some kind of praise.

"What did you find out?" John asked.

"It was almost as if it wasn't human," Anderson explained. "Like it was something that I have never seen before."

"It was human," Sherlock said. "Anderson if you have actually made an attempt at thinking you would have noticed the chemical imbalance."

_Burn_, Dean thought and tried not to laugh.

"He was injected with an experimental drug," Cas said.

"They were trying some diet drug that went wrong," Sam explained. "One scientist continued to inject people against their will."

"The side effects that were mentioned in the report included an increase in strength, speed and agility," Sherlock continued. "Quadrupled the speed of their fingernail growth, lengthened their canines and caused an odd pigmentation in their eyes. It had altered their sanity."

"Driven them to act like animals," Donovan said slowly and shook her head.

"What is wrong with people in your country?" Anderson asked.

"How about you keep quiet and let us do our jobs?" Dean asked before he took a deep breath. "Sorry, but this case was getting to me."

"Anderson you are dismissed," Lestrade ordered. "One of these victims came here I take it?"

"The scientist in question did," Sherlock said.

"He eluded us once again," Sam added.

"Going to be a pain to report," Dean said and turned to Sherlock. "Probably wouldn't have figured it out if it weren't for this guy." He smiled. "Told our supervisor who we were assisting."

"Being assisted by," Sherlock corrected and earned an eye roll from John.

"Heh," Dean chuckled. "Being assisted by and our superior was like a twelve year old girl getting to meet Justin Beiber."

"We are very grateful," Cas said.

"He's a bit arrogant-" Dean was interrupted by a snort from John and a muffled chuckle from Lestrade.

"A bit?" Donovan asked. "You two haven't been working with him that long."

"So he has an ego. I would too if I could do what he does. You ever want a change of scenery the FBI would love for you to come by and assist us." He held out his fist.

"What are you doing?" Sherlock asked in a low tone.

"Bump me," Dean whispered.

Sherlock closed his eyes and exhaled deeply through his nose before he raised his arm and tapped his fist against Dean's.

"We can compare reports in my office," Lestrade said. "Donovan hold my calls." He held the door open and motioned for the rest to follow.

Dean waited for the door to close before asking. "How do you deal with that dick?" He knew he should have phrased it better when he saw how John had his eyes wide open and Lestrade had his jaw dropped. Even Sherlock looked uncomfortable.

"Dean, Seriously?" Sam asked.

"Excuse me?" Lestrade asked and glanced down before looking up at Dean.

"Not your…you know," Dean said. "Anderson."

"I have asked the same question many times," Sherlock said.

"He does his job actually well," Lestrade said. "That is not the reason why I wanted to speak with you. I was hoping I could find something plausible to type up."

"Sammy and Johnny here already have that for you," Dean said as he held up a folder that he was carrying and pulled out a copy. He also a pulled out a number from his pocket. "Here is the report and here is a number for you to give the people that you answer to."

"We can give you more if you need it," John offered.

"This should take care of it," Lestrade said as he skimmed through the pages. "I also take it that Sherlock and Dean are back in their bodies?"

"It was not an act outside of your office," Sherlock said. "I can assure you."

"That's you all right," Lestrade said and nodded. "That is all I needed to see you."

"Don't know if I will see you again," Dean said and held out his hand. "It was nice getting to know you."

"You three have a safe flight back," Lestrade said as he shook their hands. "And is it all right if I have a way to contact you in case something similar happens?"

"Gladly," Dean said as he wrote down his cell number and gave it to the DI

"If that is all," Sherlock said. "We will be going now."

"Take care," John said to the DI as they walked out of the office.

Dean had waited until they had left the building before he turned to Sherlock and tried to study him and focused on his expression.

"You have potential," Sherlock said with a smirk. "You are going to have to work and train your brain better."

"I can say the same for the both of you," Dean said. "You two would make pretty good hunters."

"Almost sorry that I will not be joining you," Sherlock said.

"That invitation I have you was not part of the act. You two ever want to visit our side of the pond then give us a call." He gave Sherlock a pat on the shoulder. "I know a part of you wishes you can live my life and not just temporary."

"Do you feel the same?" John asked him. "That is living Sherlock's life."

Dean shrugged. "Any life where I'm not a hunter would be perfect but I would adapt easier as a detective."

"You and Sam are welcome to visit us anytime," John said. "The same for you Castiel."

"Thank you," Cas said.

"We should catch a cab," Sam said as he looked up and down the street.

"Are you going to pack?" Sherlock asked.

"I told Sam not to pick the earliest flight," Dean said. "I did kinda hint to wait a few days. Maybe give us time to relax a little bit."

"You can't put it off forever," Sam told him.

"So we wait two more days. There is stuff I still want to do here."

"Do you like horror movies?" John asked. "I like the ones that are pretty bad even though Sherlock keeps telling me the mistake when I ask him to shut up a dozen times, but he never listens."

"It is rather difficult for me to not state the obvious," Sherlock said.

"Gotta love that honesty," Dean said and placed a hand on his shoulder. "I do the same with horror flicks, mostly yelling at them about how they are getting it wrong."

"They are showing Hell Hazers one and two," John said as he waved a cab over. "We could watch that."

"Oh please," Sherlock groaned. "Those movies again, John?"

"I would love to," Dean said as he followed them into the cab. He just had to tell them about the time he and Sam went to Hollywood. "There is an interesting story behind the second one." He had a ton of new stories to tell his new friends and even though the experience was jarring and he was glad it was over he was more glad that he had made new friends.


	22. Epilogue

_Epilogue_

* * *

It had been several months since he was forced to fake his death, since he was set up as a fraud and since he had to leave those he had cared about. Sherlock had lived with Molly for several weeks while he changed his appearance. He had dyed his hair to a strawberry blond shade and slicked it back. He grew sideburns, a mustache and goatee. He dressed differently even though he never left her flat and rarely answered the door. He felt himself growing closer to his beloved friend.

Then one night he had shared a dream with Dean where he was given an invitation to stay with them for a while. Sherlock was willing to accept. But only of if it was all right with Molly and thought it was better to hide him outside the country. Several hours later Castiel had arrived and he packed up some of his things and said goodbye to Molly before he was taken to America, not to a cheap motel but to a special bunker that was owned by a group of people called The Men of Letters.

Sherlock enjoyed his home in the bunker. He had a decent bed and was able to take warm showers and was able to eat, but he was more interested in the knowledge the place stored. He spent hours scouring through the books, sometimes forgetting to eat and sleep. He even read some of the scrolls and studied the objects. The place was extraordinary. It even had a laboratory, a firing range and a war room.

Then a month after he had moved in the angels fell. It was stated to be a cosmic phenomenon by everyone who was not in the know. Newspapers were filled with reports of the world wide meteor shower and what was more puzzling were the lack of any meteorites to be found. Even though there was a more likely chance of a rock burning to dust before it hits the earth the scientists had said that with the shower that larger there should have been at least a few, but there were none to be found.

The angels themselves had made appearance around the world as they walked the Earth, not as humans, but wingless and some were depowered. Some were honest with who they spoke with and they were placed in mental hospitals. Some could not accept what had happen and committed suicide. The others seemed to have accepted their fate, pretending to suffer from amnesia and accept help from strangers.

Several angels had tried to invade their home until they set up the sigils. That didn't keep them from hunting down and attacking Castiel and the rest of them, but someone would always paint the banishing sigil with their blood on the wall. Sherlock had even did it a couple of times while he worked on hunts.

Sherlock was more than willing to put his problems on the back burner. Along with the fallen angels there was Castiel who went through a bout of depression, claiming it was his fault, despite the fact that Sherlock, Dean, Sam and a young man named Kevin told him he was tricked.

Sam was unconscious for a week. He was sickly and weak when Sherlock first came to the bunker, but after trying to complete the third trial he was a blink away from death. He was in a coma for a week and then he was better. He seemed like he had more strength and vitality then everyone and Sherlock swore he saw Sam's eyes glowing a few times. No one knew what was going on with him, not Sherlock nor Deab, nor even Kevin Tran knew.

Sherlock actually liked meeting Kevin. He was a teenage boy that held a great deal of promise. He was highly intelligent and showed great promise. He was what the Americans called an advanced placement student and if he wasn't a prophet he would have attended uni at Princeton. His being a prophet was more intriguing to Sherlock than his level of intelligence. He was able to read the word of God and was working out a way to restore the angels to heaven. He was also a talented cello player and he and Sherlock would often play together. It reminded Sherlock of how he used to play with Mycroft. He did not realize how much he actually missed his brother until now.

Their bunker family grew with the addition in the form of Crowley, correction Fergus. The demon was nearly cured of its evil by Sam's purified blood and would of fully cured him if it were not the fact that Sam would have died. Fergus also spent weeks in a depressed state, regretting everything had done since he became a demon. He apologized to all of his victims. He wished he could be completely cured. He had taken up the role as the caretaker, making sure everything is clean, cooking and baking. He was also the only one who knew how to brew a decent pot of tea.

Sherlock had learned how to be a hunter. He had accepted the false identity of Robert Harvelle and was willing to use any of the rock musician names that Dean gave him. Sherlock had worked on perfecting his American accent when he went out on hunts. Hunting did give him a new joy. He used his deduction skills to help determine who the monster was an in one case debunked a so called haunted house. He had helped Dean and Sam burn two ghosts, exorcise a demon, kill a nest of vampires, slay an incubus and a wraith.

"Yo Sherly," Dean shouted as he entered the lab one evening along with Castiel. Sometimes the former angel went on hunts. "Playing with your chemistry set?"

"Hardly," Sherlock answered as he studied the piece of wraith spike that he had broken off from his last hunt. He was impressed with the bone structure. "How many times have I told you not to call me Sherly?"

"Brought you back a souvenir," Dean said as he sat down at the other end of the table. "It's a piece of shifter skin. I stuck it in the fridge for you."

"Thank you," Sherlock said and looked up. "I do appreciate the gift."

"Also got a text from Charlie," Dean said. "You are not going to believe who e-mailed the website."

The Website in question was dubbed I Believe in Sherlock Holmes or simply . It was set up to help restore the image to Sherlock's character. Kevin, Sam and a young woman who went by the Alias of Charlie Bradbury had set it up. There were pictures of famed children's show hosts who had deplorable real life secrets on one page comparing them with Richard Brook. The site used to have Don't Stop Believing by Journey playing on the main page until Sherlock and Sam had asked for it to be removed.

"By the time I have finished what I started I will make Kitty Riley look like Rita Skeeter and no one would believe her bullshit," was the vow that Charlie had made.

"Try me," Sherlock said.

"John Watson," Dean answered. "He appreciates what we are doing. He also told me that he has a new roommate a man who called himself Barachiel."

"One of the fallen?" Sherlock asked.

"Seems like it is. John misses us and he misses you more. I couldn't see him or hear his voice but even in the text he was depressed."

"I can't let him know," Sherlock said and closed his eyes.

"Because of Moriarty's network?" Dean asked. "Then we are going to take a huge feather duster to that web of his."

"It will be complex," Sherlock said. "We have enough trouble with trying to restore the angels."

"The only one I really want to restore is Cas, mostly I want to kick that son of a bitch Metatron in the ass but we can do this together. He's got hackers? We got the best hacker in the world and you already met her. He's got a network? Well so do we, granted they are hunters, but we will have everyone who has ever worked for the bastard hauled to jail or killed and once we reveal Moriarty was real and your reputation restored you will call him."

"You enjoy ordering people around," Sherlock said and sighed. "I will do better than call him. I will return to him all of them: John, Mycroft, Mrs. Hudson. Molly and Lestrade."

"Willing to give up this job?" Dean asked.

"I will give it up here, but I will continue to hunt and solve mysteries back home in London. Do not get me wrong, my friend. I enjoy my time here, but I miss home and I miss them."

"I'm glad to hear it."

"We should get started now," Sherlock said with his jaw clenched in determination. "We've got work to do."

* * *

_The End_

**A/N: **Thank you to all who have been following, all who have faved and all who have commented.

I am working on a sequel titled **Live to Rise**


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